Regarding Rachel
by freerangeegghead
Summary: In which being in the wrong place at the wrong time one dark, wintry night wipes the slate clean for Rachel, changes everything and destroys all that she and Santana have built over the years. It is now up to Santana to bring her back. But will Santana succeed? Or is Rachel lost to her? Part 5 of Loop/Space/Learning/Opus verse. Occurs after "Opus". COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**_Summary: In which being in the wrong place at the wrong time one dark, wintry night wipes the slate clean for Rachel, changes everything and destroys all that she and Santana have built over the years. It is now up to Santana to bring her back. But will Santana succeed? Or is Rachel lost to her? Part 5 of Loop/Space/Learning/Opus verse._**

**_Pairings: Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez_**

**_Rating: Rated T ~ M_**

**_Spoilers: Mentions of canon, mentions previous stories in this verse. (Best to read from Part 1 first)_**

**_Warnings: Possible character death/s. Possible intense emotional situations._**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the prose._**

* * *

><p>Moving quickly through frozen ground in boots is difficult.<p>

Rachel Berry had, almost a few times slipped, had it not been for Jeffrey Murray, Quinn Fabray's husband, being able to catch her and hold her through the ice. Rachel giggles as Jeffrey laughs. Rachel's boots sink into the snow, hears the crunch of her boots against the snow, clings to Jeffrey more tightly, one gloved hand tightening around Jeffrey's arm, the other holding on to the bag of groceries that they'd bought as they walk on the sidewalk, on their way to Santana Lopez's car. The night is still and silent, dark and misty. Snowflakes fall softly on the ground, a slight breeze blows, making Rachel draw Jeffrey closer. It's not even seven o'clock in the evening, but it looks like midnight, the streets look deserted and lonely, save for Rachel and Jeffrey.

Jeffrey and Quinn had gone to New York on business, and had visited both Rachel and Santana in Brooklyn Hill Gardens. The couple had prepared dinner for Jeffrey and Quinn, but they'd run out of wine and Jeffrey had offered to go buy some. Neither Quinn nor Santana wanted to accompany him, because it was too cold so Rachel had volunteered to go instead. "Don't want you getting mugged now," Rachel had joked to Jeffrey.

It's the middle of winter, it's the end of January, and so far everyone's having a great start to a New Year. Both Rachel and Santana are celebrating a flourishing career in the music industry, Rachel has just signed on to do an independent film that was apparently a cross between "August Rush" and "Once", which Santana thinks is a step up from her obsession with musicals. Jeffrey and Quinn are celebrating opening a branch of "Q's" in Detroit. They'd been approached about franchising their restaurant and making it go national or even global, but Jeffrey and Quinn had long ago decided that they wanted to maintain the quality of their restaurant and had only opened two other branches – one in Detroit and the other in Cleveland. Quinn had run for Senate and lost, but she'd been named adviser to the new President, and that was saying something. The couple were dividing their time between DC and Ohio. Aidann had gone and flown the coop, working for a company in Michigan. Blue is still single and working as a conductor for the New York City Orchestra, as well as music adviser for MILF, and doing some work on the side conducting music for movies. Ever since the success, the year before, of her work as guest conductor for the European International Music Festival, she's been offered a few jobs, which is good, considering it is hard to work in a very male-dominated arena of the music industry. Suzie and Mike Chang are thriving as co-owners of a dance music studio and as volunteers for MILF.

So it's been a good start to the year.

Santana had texted Rachel a few minutes ago, wondering where they are, so Rachel had taken out her mobile phone to call her wife, but predictably the phone call went to voice mail – Santana and Quinn were probably busy arguing or catching up or whatever it is the best friends do, so she leaves a quick message, ending it with an "I love you" that earns her a grin and a wink from Jeffrey. Rachel blushes. It should be ridiculous, how much she loves Santana and how much Santana loves her back, but they've been married a long time, and have been through their own ups and downs, but at the end of the day, they still loved each other, and that was all that mattered.

As they chat and laugh quietly, Jeffrey unlocking his side of the car and opening the other car door for Rachel, they don't notice the couple of hooded guys with ski masks approach them.

Rachel and Jeffrey don't see it coming.

One grabs Rachel, slams her against the side of the car, brandishes a knife so close to her face she sees her reflection on it, sees it glint against the light, as the other one quickly pulls Jeffrey out of the driver's seat, slams him against the other side of the car and screams for him to give them their money.

Rachel sees it all as if in slow motion. She doesn't remember what happens next, but there are shouts, she senses Jeffrey fighting back, letting his small-town, chivalrous sensibilities get the better of his usually big city sensibilities. She feels her person being manhandled, gloved hands searching for money, for jewelry for something, there are more shouts, then she hears a shot, like in the movies, and she moves, as if moving in water, and she doesn't realize it's a gunshot, and that their muggers are running away from them, and that the snow has gotten heavy and hard, and she hears Jeffrey hoarsely and laboriously trying to shout for her to get in, and she does and she doesn't notice Jeffrey's been shot until they're in the middle of the road, and in the next stoplight, the car slowing down to a crawl right in the middle of the red light, and then a big truck hits them from behind and Rachel can feel herself being slammed against the dashboard, feels herself hit the windshield, feels the glass shatter, feels wind and snow and then darkness.

* * *

><p>She wakes up to the steady sound of beeping and clicking and a steady rhythm and finds herself on a bed, in a room, covered with a blanket, lying on her back. She sees a white ceiling, white surroundings, equipment humming, sees herself in wires and tubes and she doesn't notice the people standing by the foot of her bed, looking at her.<p>

"Hey, how are you?" an olive-skinned woman in a white labcoat asks, smiling at her as she glances at a clipboard in her hand. "I'm Dr. Paulson. How are you feeling?"

Rachel is unable to speak, feeling confused and disoriented.

"Are you okay? Do you remember where you were before you got here?" Dr. Paulson asks, voice gentle and concerned.

Rachel stops to think about that, but realizes she can't actually recall anything.

When she doesn't answer, Dr. Paulson asks, "What's your name?"

"What?"

"Your name."

"I...my..." Rachel starts to say something, but realizes that she can't recall it either. A sudden panic seizes her and she looks at the doctor, anxious and nervous. She starts to shake her head.

"That's okay, take a deep breath," Dr. Paulson says now. "Shall we try again...?"

Rachel takes that deep breath, thinks and she remembers. "Rachel. Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Do you know your birthday?"

Rachel nods. "Of course I do."

Dr. Paulson turns to the woman beside her. "I think she's fine." She then turns to Rachel again and says, "You gave us quite a scare there, Rachel."

"Where am I?What's going on? What's happened?" Rachel croaks now, feeling pain, feeling like there is cotton in her mouth, feeling a headache coming on.

Dr. Paulson nods and says, "Brooklyn General. You've been here since Monday and..."

"What happened?"

Dr. Paulson hesitates, but the other woman, who was about five feet four, looked to be around her age, beautiful dark eyes fringed with long lashes, skin tan, hair dark and long and falling in waves on her shoulders and back, interrupts, looks worried and anxious and concerned, as she says, "You've been in an...accident...and you've been...in a coma for almost...three weeks? Four weeks? And..." she stops, chokes, visibly swallows, and Rachel can swear she looks like she is almost crying, holding back the tears. Rachel wonders why this other doctor seems more concerned than the other one.

"I'm sorry, are you...the other doctor?" Rachel asks now, wondering.

The woman looks at her, as if in pain and confusion and anxiety and nervousness and looks towards Dr. Paulson, who looks a bit confused at first, before realization hits her.

"Rachel, she's not your doctor," Dr. Paulson says, carefully.

"Oh, she's my nurse or carer or something?" Rachel asks. "Where are my dads? Where's..."

"Rachel," Dr. Paulson says now. "You don't remember Santana? Santana Lopez?"

Rachel starts to shake her head, before she screws up her brows, and a rush of memories come back and her face lights up and she says, "Santana...Santana Lopez? Yes! I remember you! You were with me...in high school...in Lima, in Ohio! We were in Glee together and you...you used to bully me and...I think we were friends? When we graduated and...you haven't really kept in touch with me and..."

Dr. Paulson smiles. "Oh, I think she's more than that to you, Rachel."

Rachel looks at Dr. Paulson then, even more puzzled.

Rachel asks, "Should I be remembering more?"

Santana looks like she's about to cry now and there's panic and nervousness and fear in her eyes as she looks at Dr. Paulson for help. Rachel notices that Santana has dark circles under her eyes, her eyes puffy and red, like she's been crying. She looks exhausted, looks haggard, looks like she's lost a lot of sleep. She looks thin. Now she looks afraid. Rachel wonders why Santana looks afraid.

"Rachel," Dr. Paulson says carefully now. "Santana's...Santana's your..." she clears her throat, feeling uncomfortable, before she continues, "Santana's your wife. She's your next of kin...she's..."

Rachel stares at Dr. Paulson for a moment, before she smiles slowly and says, "You're kidding, right? Santana and I can't possibly be..._together_ in that way...I mean, she hated my guts...and...she can't stand me...well, we can't stand each other...so...that's just..._impossible_..."

Dr. Paulson asks, "You don't remember anything..._ more_?"

Rachel shakes her head.

Santana looks hurt, like someone has just kicked her in the guts. Tears have pooled in her eyes and she swallows, trying to keep them from falling. Rachel wonders why Santana should feel so intensely about everything, and why the doctor claims they're _married_. That can't be right, right? How can she be _married_ to Santana Lopez? She was supposed to marry Finn Hudson, be a Broadway star, be everything that she's ever dreamed of. The one thing that never crossed her mind was marry Santana Lopez. That had never crossed her mind. No. She would never marry her, not in a million years.

Santana doesn't even say anything and just walks out of the door, followed by Dr. Paulson.

Rachel didn't remember Santana being her wife.

Rachel didn't remember her life with Santana at all.

Outside the hospital room, Santana sees Quinn, who looks as exhausted and lost as she does. They rush to each other, in the middle of the hallway, and cry.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: That's it for this chapter. Kind, objective reviews welcome and much appreciated._**

**_I know a number of you requested a sequel to "A Lesser God's Opus" and this was the story that came to mind. Points for you if you recognize the movie/s referenced as inspiration for this story. I know some of you probably expected something different, but I hope you like this one anyway. This probably will only take 10 chapters._**

**_Again, many thanks to those who reviewed, favorited and followed "A Lesser God's Opus"._**

**_Many thanks as always to beta DragonsWillFly for the assistance._**


	2. Chapter 2

Santana stands outside Rachel's hospital room, occasionally glancing at the door, wondering what the other doctor is telling Rachel and if Rachel is taking it as badly or worse as she is, standing in front of Dr. Paulson, only half-listening to what she is saying in her monotonous, clinical sounding voice.

"...We don't really know the extent of the damage because of the extent of the brain trauma she experienced during the accident so it is possible that she may be suffering from some form retrogade amnesia, which means there quite possibly may have been some damage in her temporal lobe area, which is responsible for long-term memories, and that's why she doesn't remember you...but what's puzzling is the fact that her speech and motor functions and semantic memory seem unimpeded...so it's a bit perplexing. Traditionally, memories of habits are more preserved than memories of facts and events, especially facts and events about one's life. I guess this really depends on the extent of the damage on the hippocampus as well, that's why we'd had to induce a coma, have her brain heal, slow down the damage. I'm sure it's all fine, but we are not sure about that until we get some more brain scans. But I should think you shouldn't worry, this kind of memory loss is usually short-term and recovery happens in a short period of time..." Dr. Paulson intones.

"How long?" Santana asks mechanically.

"In most cases, amnesia is a temporary condition, so a few hours, a few days?" Dr. Paulson says. "But depending on the severity of the brain injury it could last a few weeks or months even. There have been rare cases of some kinds of amnesia lasting for a year or years even, but that's very rare, as I mentioned."

"Months? Years?" Santana asks incredulously now. "Are you kidding me? How...what...I can't even..."

Dr. Paulson purses her lips together, listening patiently to Santana rant and rave in irritation and anxiety and panic. Finally, Dr. Paulson speaks.

"I'm sorry."

Santana doesn't say anything to that.

"We'll, of course, conduct some tests, have some brain scans, confirm and verify speculations with more scientific methods, but as I said, it's mostly temporary, so we just need to be patient," Dr. Paulson says. "We just need to expect the worst, hope for the best."

"What do we do now?" Santana asks.

Dr. Paulson answers in that competent manner that Santana finds very reassuring – kind of like when a client talks to her and she is able to walk him or her through the case because she knows what she is doing. Dr. Paulson says, "The best thing to do now is just...give her space...not push her too much to do things that might help jog her memory...but also just get her right back into her routine...that might help remind her of the missing gaps in her memory..."

"That's like a whole chunk of her adult life, Doctor," Santana points out sarcastically. "What if she doesn't remember everything?"

Dr. Paulson says, "I can't promise you anything. The brain's a mysterious thing. No two brain injuries are alike."

Santana isn't even listening as Hiram and Leroy Berry come out of the hospital room, with Kurt Hummel in tow. Rachel had spent the better part of the day holed up in the room talking to her fathers and to her best friend as Santana paced outside with their daughters Suzie and Blue. Suzie's partner, Kate, had already gone home to let their children, Beans and Cody, get some rest, as it is a school night, but the minute they'd heard that Rachel was awake, Beans and Kate insisted on coming. Santana and Rachel's children both look as exhausted and sleep-deprived as Santana, worry, anxiety and fear etched on their faces. They'd all spent too much time in the hospital, wringing hands in worry, as Rachel spent some time in a coma in intensive care, before they'd moved her in a regular private room, even as paparazzi and journalists wanted to get statements, pictures and interviews with the immediate family. Thanks to Rachel and Santana's agent and publicist though, they haven't had to deal with it too much. They and Suzie and Blue had also been good at keeping gossip magazines, newspapers and blogs with leaked pictures of a Rachel on a stretcher being rushed to the hospital away from Santana. They already know Santana will have a fit, and she didn't want anyone seeing her Tony, Grammy and Oscar award-winning Broadway star and actress wife, co-composer and singer on the front or inside pages of magazines and newspapers in that way. Santana and the children already know Rachel would probably die rather than see her picture like that in the media as well. There have been plenty of well-wishers though, online, on social networking sites, wishing for Rachel to get well, fans keeping a vigil outside the hospital or by their Brooklyn home.

Santana had not slept a wink since Rachel had woken up. She barely slept when Rachel had been in a coma, and her children had to force her to get some sleep and eat, Suzie threatening that she will never get to see her grandkids again unless she got some sleep before she complied.

Everyone had been ecstatic when Rachel woke up. Jeffrey, who'd been in the driver's seat, had fared better than Rachel, the airbag having worked at the last minute, even though he'd suffered a lot of injuries and internal bleeding. He'd spent a few days in the hospital and had been able to go home to Lima with Quinn after. Quinn had gone back to New York to see about her best friend and Rachel.

But now everyone seems to be holding their breath, because Rachel seems to be manifesting some form of amnesia, unable to recognize Santana as more than her wife, best friend, confidante and lifetime partner, and just the high school Santana that she knew way back when. This meant that Rachel would probably _not_ remember having spent most of her adult life married to Santana, as well as not remember both children she's raised with Santana, all the things they've done together, all the hopes and dreams they've achieved and trials and challenges they've both gone through and overcome. This means all the memories she's had with Santana, Suzie and Blue are all gone, albeit temporarily.

Santana really doesn't know what to do with that. Because what is family but a collection of memories one had made with a group of people one shared love and commitment and children with?

Santana feels crying.

It was a good thing the in-laws and Kurt Hummel had come. The doctor and Santana had decided having the in-laws, Rachel's fathers and her lifelong best friend, fashion designer Kurt Hummel, would do a better job of easing this Rachel into the present, with her new marital and familial status as well as the new developments in her life.

Santana isn't feeling hopeful that things will go back to normal. With what they have been through, in their long relationship and married life together, she doesn't think she can go through yet another challenge like this one. She feels too old and too exhausted for this. She can't even begin to imagine where she is supposed to start to help her wife regain her memory, and convincing her that they were married seems like a ridiculous thing to do now, since high school Rachel didn't even believe adult Rachel would ever consider, much less date, adult Santana.

As Dr. Paulson excuses herself when her phone rings, she nods and sighs, watches as the in-laws and Kurt approach her. Their expressions don't tell her what has happened inside the room, so she is expecting the worst.

So it surprises her when Kurt says, "She wants to talk to you" and she turns to both her in-laws and they nod and smile, confirming what Kurt has just said.

It confuses her.

* * *

><p>When she opens the door and sees Rachel sitting on the bed, the blanket on her legs, smoothing the blanket with her bandaged hands and trying vainly to run her fingers through her bandaged head, Santana realizes she's fidgeting. Fidgeting about what, Santana doesn't know, until she sees Santana and a nervous smile breaks on her face and in a hesitant voice, she says, "Hey, come in," Santana realizes she's nervous as Santana is.<p>

Santana takes a few uncertain steps towards Rachel, hesitates, unsure what to do next, before Rachel gives her an encouraging smile and motions for her to come closer, patting one side of the bed for her. Santana decides to sit on the chair beside the bed. There is still a bandage wrapped on Rachel's head, although thankfully they have not had to shave her head. There is a bandage on her left arm, faint scratches and bruises healing on her face, on her neck, on her arm, where the shards of glass have hit her. But despite it all she still looks like the naturally beautiful woman Santana fell in love with, the woman with smooth skin, luscious, dark waves of hair, perfect teeth, slim body, the utterly disarming, charming smile. Her eyes, dark and pretty, focused and intent, eyes that always seem to be scheming, eyes that seem to always be declaring that they are on a mission, are trained on her, and when she had entered, the eyes had registered that sense of familiarity, that recognition that Santana is someone she knows. But there's something else that seems to be missing. She cannot put her finger in it. Santana swallows.

"Hey," Santana says.

"Hey," Rachel says.

"How are you feeling?" Santana asks now.

"Like I've been mugged and in a car accident," Rachel says now.

Santana is looking down at her hands, unable to look Rachel in the eye, somehow feeling like this woman right now who doesn't remember her, is a complete stranger and she thus feels a bit shy and embarrassed sitting here when the woman in question doesn't even remember her. She doesn't want to have to work for this, work for this woman to remember her, but she detects a slight, light almost joke-y tone in Rachel's voice and so she looks and sees Rachel smiling at her.

"Hey," Rachel says again, this time really smiling at Santana.

Santana clears her throat, tries hard not to cry as she chokes on the "Hey" that she croaks out.

There is a momentary silence before Rachel says, "So...I'm told I have some sort of amnesia and a whole chunk of memory of my supposed life with you is gone...but I'm also told this might be temporary and that it might help jog my memory if the people directly involved in my life would help me in that department."

Santana doesn't know what to say, so she just smiles and nods, sighing a little in relief and confusion at Rachel's words.

"But first things first," Rachel says, "How's Quinn? And Jeffrey? I understand Jeffrey is Quinn's husband and that we were together when it happened?"

Santana nods.

"We weren't, like, doing any kind of funny business were we?" Rachel asks now.

Santana shakes her head firmly. "God, no, you were running to the grocery store to buy some wine. We'd run out of wine. But then you realized we've also run out of milk and some tartar sauce and bread and god knows what else and so you picked up a few other stuff, too and you got mugged on your way home and barely escaped and Jeffrey kind of tried to get you guys away and then you guys kind of crashed at an intersection and stuff..."

"But he's okay? Jeffrey?" Rachel asks now, concern etched on her face.

Santana nods again.

Rachel leans back, sighing in relief. "Oh, good. That would suck if something bad happened to him."

They sit in silence again, before Rachel looks to Santana again and out of the blue, asks her, "So, how long have we been married?"

Santana says, "Um, more than two decades?"

Rachel considers this before she says, "Wow."

Santana nods and shrugs. "Yeah."

"How long have we been together?" Rachel asks next.

"About thirty years?" Santana hazards a guess.

"Wow," Rachel says again.

"You're not freaked out by this?" Santana asks.

"I should be, but I'm not," Rachel says. "So, let's get to work. Help me jog my memory, help me remember. I'm sure there's some proof of this marriage of ours? Aside from this wedding ring? Video footage? Pictures? A diary perhaps."

Santana nods. "Yes. Back home. Meticulously catalogued and stored. I don't have access to all of them though. Your diary especially. I mean, that's private stuff, so."

Rachel nods. "Good. Maybe you can help me with them, then."

Santana considers in her silence, before she says, "I underestimated your resilience."

Rachel grins before she says, "I underestimated your ability to use big words."

Santana looks offended and indignant as she says, "I went to law school."

Rachel smiles. "Wow. That's amazing."

Santana studies her carefully. "You seem awfully calm for someone who can't remember your former life."

Rachel shrugs nonchalantly and says, "I kind of almost died. And at least one of the people I last remember before this amnesia thing came is you...and I'm pretty sure you're not some psycho stalker who's going to strangle me with the strap of my Prada bag, but yeah..."

Santana smiles.

"Unless you're planning to cut off my leg or make me eat my leg or something...you're not planning to do that anytime soon, right?" Rachel continues.

Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

Rachel says, "Anyway, plus I have stretch marks and wrinkles and a bit of fat in some places I never knew existed, and I'm pretty sure I've had work done, and I have this gold wedding ring on my ring finger that has your name in it and the words 'Never to fart' engraved in it."

"God, it says, 'Never to _part_' baby, it's a 'p', not an 'f', how many times do I have to keep saying that?" Santana says now.

Rachel looks surprised.

"Sorry, sorry," Santana says now.

They are silent for a few moments, before Rachel says, "Is that your term of endearment for me?"

"Huh? Sorry, what?" Santana asks.

"Your term of endearment for me..."

Santana considers this, before she says, "Oh, yeah."

Rachel screws up her face. "Do I like it?"

Santana smiles a little. "At first you didn't, but you kind of warmed up to it."

"Do I have a term of endearment for you, too?" Rachel asks.

Santana says, "Yes. Honey."

"Oh," Rachel says now. "Do we have sex?"

The question, random and so out-of-the-blue it catches Santana so much by surprise it makes her blush, but at the same time it makes her almost laugh out loud and choke at the same time and so she tries to cough to hide her amusement and mortification at the question.

Santana doesn't know what to answer, but she tries to open her mouth and say something else, but a child, about five or six, runs into the room, in blue overalls and sneakers, skin the color of light bronze, hair a wild profusion of curls, eyes almond and brown, a perpetual mischievous grin on her face and behind her, there's an anxious, chiding woman's voice saying, "Beans, no!" as if it has been said a lot of times, followed by a young woman, tall, lithe, beautiful and olive-skinned, almond eyes apologetic as she enters the room. The child is dressed in primary colors, and when she smiles, she grins, revealing two missing front teeth. She has hair that her mother seems to have tried to beat into submission but have given up on it.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, I know the doctor said we shouldn't, and I had my back turned for a sec and she kind of just...ran in here," the woman apologetically tells Santana now.

"It's okay," Santana says now, smiling reassuringly at the woman.

Rachel just looks at Santana then, a questioning look on her face.

"This is Kate," Santana says now.

If Kate feels pity or sadness that her mother-in-law does not recognize her, she doesn't show it as she smiles at Rachel. "Hi," she says.

Rachel smiles back, a little apprehensively. "Hi."

"Kate is...Suzie's partner," Santana says now.

Before Rachel can say anything else, Santana says, "And Suzie's..."

But before she can continue, Suzie is right in the room, and she completes the sentence by saying, "Right here. Hey, Suzie."

Suzie smiles, eyes anxious, looking a bit nervous, as she bites her lower lip, looking at Santana as if asking for permission. Before Santana can speak, Beans barrels towards Suzie and Suzie bends over and picks Beans up, speaking to her all the while. Santana takes this opportunity to lean over to Rachel and ask, "Is this okay? I mean, I know you should take it easy, and we were...supposed to ease you back into your old life and..."

"No, this is fine," Rachel quickly says, "Like ripping a band-aid, get it over with and all that."

Santana feels a twinge of pain at the casual way Rachel has said the last part, but she doesn't say anything.

"And Suzie's...?" Rachel asks.

"My daughter," Santana says quickly.

As she says this, Blue comes in and smiles at Santana and Rachel, before she says, "Hey."

"And this is Blue," Santana says now, as Blue comes up to kiss Santana on the kiss.

Beans then looks at Rachel then, and smiles so sweetly and with so much love and affection that it floors Rachel. "Hey, Grammy! I'm Beans!"

Rachel says, softly, "Hi."

Beans continues, "Grammy – you look so _useful_!" She then looks at Blue when Blue laughs a little. "What? Mommy Kate said I should compliment people."

Suzie clears her throat and says, "Yes, but honey I think you meant, _youthful_."

Beans leans over and says, "We've missed you, Gram!"

Blue says, "What she means is trying on your lipstick and clothes and pearls..."

"And those industrial strength girdles that Blue really likes!" Beans adds.

Santana is about to speak but then Beans says, "Hey, Aunt Blue, have you considered your retirement plan?"

Blue straightens up, looks behind her and says, "Nope."

"But, I think that's important, and if you're not going to date, you should at least think about your retirement plan!" Blue says anxiously.

Santana says, "What are you guys talking about?"

Beans gestures for her mother to put her down and she comes up to Santana who lifts her and sets her on her lap. Beans is talking non-stop during this time.

"Auntie Blue's dating prospects," Beans says matter-of-factly.

Santana looks at Suzie, who grins mischievously, Blue, who blushes, and Kate, who just shrugs and has that "I'm-staying-out-of-this-one" look on her face.

"Blue's dating prospects?" Santana echoes.

"Well, Auntie Blue hasn't been going out on a date in a while, and frankly Mommy Suzie and Mommy Kate are worried," Beans says. "Or well, Mommy Suzie is worried and she thinks Auntie Blue is picky and doesn't go out enough and Mommy Kate thinks Mommy Suzie worries too much and then they have that argument where Mommy Suzie always ends up sleeping on the couch. Just like that one time Kurt bit Mommy Suzie and Mommy Suzie wanted Kurt put to sleep and Mommy Kate didn't want that and..."

"Who's Kurt?" Rachel asks now.

"Kurt is our dog," Beans says now.

Santana lets out a soft laugh as she nuzzles Beans' neck. "And what do you think, squirt?"

Beans stops and thinks about this first, before she says, "I think it's time to go out there and ate again Auntie Blue. I mean, that last girl you went out with kind of had a duck's face and I don't think you're going to find it hard to find a date...I mean...since you're a bicycle and all that, it means you get to date more!"

"A...bicycle?" Rachel asks now, confused.

Blue is blushing so hard now she is actually matching her shirt. She also looks like she wants to disappear off the face of the earth.

"Bisexual," Santana whispers.

"Oh," Rachel says now.

"I don't get it though, because Mommy Suzie kind of got Auntie Blue onto this dating website but she says she isn't into anyone," Beans says now. "Auntie Blue, have you considered waxing?"

Blue blushes deeper. Rachel knits her eyebrows, even more confused and Suzie and Kate are trying hard not to burst out laughing.

"Because, you know, in Sports Illustrated, which is like, Uncle Sam's bible, waxing is important for first dates," Beans says.

"Oh, but shaving's where it's at, too," Suzie quips, earning her a jab to the elbow from Kate.

"And maybe, it's how you look at your date, too," Beans continues. "Sports Illustrated says you have to look, but don't look like a hawk, and you have to open your pupils when you're looking at your date..."

"What does that even mean?" Blue manages to ask now.

"And...and...Tyra Banks says you have to smize," Beans says.

"Geez, she's still alive?" Rachel asks.

Santana says, "Yes."

"What does smize mean?" Rachel asks.

"Smiling with your eyes," Beans says. "Anyway, I'm hungry now. Can we go that topless bar Blue and Mommy Suzie were talking about? Or are we going to get that born again chicken Mommy Rachel really likes?"

Rachel now looks positively scandalized and horrified, looking from Santana to Suzie, Blue and Kate and back.

"Tapas bar," Suzie corrects Blue as she comes over to pick the child up from Santana. "She can string along strange, inappropriate sentences but can't get tapas bar correctly. We'd best get going. Cody's over at Mommy Ru's – we need to go pick him up and this little one needs feeding."

"What's born again chicken?" Rachel asks.

"Free range chicken," Suzie automatically says. "It's what Mommy San calls your kind of food."

When Suzie, Kate, Beans and Blue all leave, Rachel had looked at Santana then, expression gentle and calm, smile soft, and she asks, "What now?"

* * *

><p>Rachel stays a couple more days at the hospital, Santana dutifully bringing her some vegan food and change of clothes, before Dr. Paulson finally gives them the go-signal to check out of the hospital.<p>

It is still winter and cold, windows registering frost on the glass and the panes, landscape covered in an all-encompassing sea of snow, everything covered in white when Santana drives Rachel out into the late Brooklyn wintry afternoon. There had been much discussion about where Rachel should go. Santana had been concerned that Rachel would be freaked out or overwhelmed by the sheer gravity of realizing that there is this whole other new life post-high school that she cannot remember and so she'd told Rachel and had made it known to the in-laws, Hiram and Leroy, that Rachel can spend a few weeks at the Berrys in Lima. It was Rachel who had refused.

"Absolutely not!" Rachel had said vehemently and defiantly after Santana and the Berrys recommended it to Rachel.

Santana, Hiram and Leroy had stared at Rachel in obfuscation.

"Um, baby," Santana begins, before she quickly shifts to referring to Rachel by name, "Rachel, considering you're suffering from amnesia and...whatever...don't you think you should take it easy?"

Leroy and Hiram nod enthusiastically in agreement and Hiram says, "Yes, uh, sweetie, things might be...uh...they can get...uh..._overwhelming_..."

Rachel nods and says, "It's okay. I'm kind of curious about what life I ended up having. And also...asking me to go back to Lima when my whole life's dream is to be in New York! I mean, I'm here, and apparently I'm famous and popular and I get to do what I want...I admit I can't wrap my head around...ending up with Santana and having kids...and grandkids...is kind of...weird...but...yeah..."

"Sweetie...uh..." Hiram starts.

"Dad," Rachel says. "I mean, I just checked myself in the mirror, I look really awesome for my age. I mean, I don't look like a retired porn star or anything..."

"Um...what does that even look like?" Santana asks.

Rachel shrugs. "Anyway, I'm going to be fine."

Santana thinks, yes, Rachel will going to be fine, but she isn't sure if she, Santana Lopez, is going to be fine.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Rachel asks.

Santana definitely did not want to answer that.

* * *

><p>Now, having arrived at home, and having led Rachel into the house, taking her coat and her own, their house for the last however many years, Santana finds herself feeling nervous. Rachel does not remember this life. It stands to reason she would be looking at their life with new eyes. With high school Rachel Berry eyes. With, admittedly, judgmental eyes. Santana cringes at the thought. She never thought she'd see the day she'd actually feel nervous and cringe at the idea that Rachel Berry-Lopez, her wife, would look at all this and look at it differently from how they have been looking at it.<p>

What was she thinking now? What she seeing now?

Santana imagines it as she follows Rachel from behind.

Santana takes in the hallway, the doorway leading to the living room to the left, and the doorway to the kitchen and dining area to the right. She follows Rachel to the living room, stops when Rachel stops, looks around the living room when Rachel looks up and around. There is silence as Rachel takes it all in, as if she is listening to music in another room, long forgotten, vibrating notes, a forgotten memory. She takes in the couch, much lived in, where people had perched and sat and napped and stood and, in the case of their kids and grandkids, jumped around repeatedly, the couch that Santana had, by default, slept in during those nights of unresolved fights with Rachel and she neither wanted to sleep beside Rachel or leave the house. The love seats, in which they had both sat to read or watch the news or just hanging out. There is evidence of the in-laws' influence here, a quilt given by the late grandmother Lopez, Santana's _Abuela_, a last minute gift from her before she passed, lying silently draped on the love seat, doilies on the table, crocheted by Mrs. Lopez herself, crocheted linen on the couch, little things that signify a life happily invaded by extended families.

There are the side tables with the vases and the lilies, Rachel's favorite, the large, plasma screen television on one side, the large, smooth black Steinway piano off on the far side of the room, where sheet music and paper are arranged neatly, the large expanse of windows street side, covered with dark curtains, the carpet they'd both picked out, the photos on a mantel near the piano, beside it, framed photographs of the family, photos of Rachel and Santana together, wedding photos, photos by the beach, photos of the couple with Suzie, with Blue, with Beans and Cody, with the Berrys and the Lopezes, with friends Quinn, Sam, Kurt and Mike. Photos that never quite capture the reality of the moment, the happiness, the candidness, the joy of it all.

There are primary colored toys strewn around, toy trucks and plastic pails and Legos, Beans and Cody's left from when they stay over or come for a visit. Rachel goes back to the mantel when she notices three important things on the mantel piece: the Tony, the Oscar, the Grammy she won, the Grammy she is sharing with Santana. She sees Rachel run a hand on the trophies, cold, shiny pieces of metal and gold, effectively summarizing a life devoted to art.

Santana knows Rachel can smell Pledge, Lysol, some lemon and ginger air freshener that Rachel had insisted on spraying in the rooms, giving the house a permanent spring garden smell. Santana remembers they'd had a long discussion about it – like they did with everything else when decorating the house. Santana had chosen a different scent, but Rachel had said it smelled like stripper perfume and that set off a long discussion in itself.

The house is homely, cozy, intimate. But standing there, watching Rachel take in the living room, Santana feels like it's less intimate somehow.

Santana, standing there, in the middle of their house, feels what she thinks Rachel is thinking – being confronted with what happens if you get what you wanted, if you lived your dream, but have had everything erased, even in your memories.

Everything is the same and everything is different.

What is Rachel thinking now, Santana wonders, away from the unforced mirth of their children and grandchildren, when a person is usually measured by what they do?

After a silence, Rachel says, "It feels different somehow...it's not..."

"What you expected?" Santana supplies.

Rachel doesn't answer, shrugs a little, before she says, so softly Santana barely hears it, "I was hoping it would be bigger."

Santana doesn't know if she means she is hoping the house would be bigger, or that her life would be bigger, or larger than life itself. Santana does not fail to register the disappointment in Rachel's voice. She manages to say, "We don't notice how much the trees have grown if we live in their shade."

Rachel says, "What does that even mean?"

It is Santana's turn to shrug. "Something my mom used to say."

Rachel nods, as if understanding, although clearly she doesn't.

They stand there, in the living room, not saying anything, looking but not really looking at each other, before Rachel says, "I'm kind of..."

"Tired, yeah, that's fine, do you want me to...?" Santana asks. "Are you hungry? I could probably fix you up some vegan stuff that you like."

Rachel shakes her head, understanding that Santana has meant to offer to help her, to cook for her and feed her, something of a novelty in itself, as Santana rarely cooks for Rachel or the rest of the family, a sure indication of familiarity and domesticity. Rachel does not register this however, but only indicates wanting to go up the stairs. Santana leads her upstairs, Rachel's hand sliding up the banister as she slowly makes her way up, negotiating the stairs, pausing at the landing as if to catch her breath, taking in the hallway, the two empty rooms down the hall, then after Santana indicates that their room is the one near the landing, taking a deep breath and taking a step towards it, pushing it back, seeing the master bedroom, their bedroom, for the first time. Except they've slept and argued and made love in this bedroom thousands of times, and the disappointment in Santana, knowing that the sight of it does not trigger anything in Rachel, a change in her facial expression, a hitch in her breath, a sudden movement. Rachel looks at the bedroom as she would look at an artifact: interested, but distant, detached.

Rachel takes it in as well – the queen-sized bed, with the special mattress they'd bought once their backs started complaining right around the forties mark. There are silk, taupe sheets, fluffy, taupe pillows, a warm taupe duvet, a bureau to the right where Santana and Rachel's make-up kits, lipsticks, moisturizers and other feminine accouterments, a small desk with a couple of Parker pens on it, a notepad, a maroon, hardbound legal book, a paperback copy of the play "Jeffrey", a small lamp, a laptop, keys, a half-open jewelry box the glint of things revealing pearls, diamond earrings, a heart necklace, a couple of rings, bracelets and anklets.

She watches Rachel go to the closet, one side containing Rachel's clothes, the other side containing Santana's clothes. She watches Rachel go to the bathroom, sees the bathroom lights turn on and Santana doesn't have to see it to know that like everything else,the bathroom reflects both their personalities, the tiles, bathtub, shower curtains, sink, neutral and unostentatious, each aspect of the bathroom, like everything else in the house, painstakingly chosen for maximum aesthetic utilization and minimum arguments. She can see, in her mind's eye, the bathroom implements lined up neatly, like soldiers, toothbrush (changed every six weeks), soap dish, paper towel, towels, rug – everything immaculately clean and proper.

She waits for Rachel to finish taking in everything, before Rachel comes out, not saying anything, as if contemplating what to do next.

Santana speaks up. "That laptop there – that's...where you've stored your diary. You have it on flash drive, too. You have a notebook somewhere, where you jot down your thoughts. I don't know where you've put it, so. There's some videos in the laptop, too. There's some hardcopies of videos, too and stuff, and there's a photo album, too, so..."

Rachel just looks at her, before she announces, "I'm really tired."

Santana nods and says, "Okay."

Rachel sleeps in the bedroom. Santana sleeps on the couch, downstairs.

Santana lies in the dark for what seems like forever, and when the first signs of dawn filter through the curtains, she decides she can't stay inside the house, that she has to do something, so she grabs her phone, scrolls through it, sends out texts and calls.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand," Santana asks, staring at the squares of pancake on her fork.<p>

Blaine looks up from the coffee he is sipping and waits for Santana to continue. Blaine was the last person she'd called and the first to show up. There are dark shadows on his face, he looks exhausted, having pulled an all-nighter at the hospital, and he scratches his beard, runs a hand through his curly hair, mercifully ungelled right now, and smiles an understanding smile at Santana. He had come to confirm what Dr. Paulson had just explained about amnesia. Later, when Sam and Mike come, she knows she won't have time to talk like this, and she wanted someone neutral, someone who didn't have the ties to their relationship and marriage like Blaine, someone who can thus be more objective than most. Sam and Mike would, of course encourage and make her feel better and tell her not to give up, but Blaine will tell her like it is.

"Why does she still not remember me? Us?" Santana asks, still staring at the pancakes.

Blaine sighs, before he starts to explain the mysteries of neuroscience, prefacing it with, "As I told you, Santana, I'm not actually a brain surgeon but..."

"Yeah, I know, I know about that stuff," Santana interrupts. "You've explained it to me like ten times or whatever. But I'm just wondering why she doesn't remember us, you know?"

Blaine doesn't have anything to say to that.

He just shrugs and sips his coffee. Later, a glint comes into his eyes, like he's come up with an idea, so he says, "It could be like, a very challenging thing for you, but this isn't like some kind of impossible thing to do, you know? You could take her out on dates, and get to know her again and...make her fall in love with you all over again...I mean, you probably did something right the first time, so I'm pretty sure you're going to get it right again the second time..."

Santana takes this in and nods. "Okay. But...you know...this is Rachel _Berry_. It took a lot of work the first time. A lot of work and a lot of time...and stuff..."

Blaine smiles. "Then you've got your work cut out for you."

Santana smiles in return. "Thanks for coming over, Blaine," Santana says.

Blaine smiles. "No problem."

When Santana doesn't say anything more, Blaine says, "You should just...tell her...or you know, make her remember...or something...it shouldn't be that hard, right?"

Santana shrugs. "I guess."

As she watches Blaine drink coffee her mind goes back to Rachel.

How could she tell Rachel? How it was? To have fallen in love with her? Could she understand? How she'd used to say Rachel's name over and over again, in her mind, sometimes out loud? How completely she'd fallen in love with her that she could probably literally tell her how her life passed from one life into another – one in which Rachel did not exist, and the other, in which Rachel did? How the truth of it made Santana feel herself grow lighter and lighter and lighter until it seems like she might fly? How the small sensation – the thought of Rachel – makes her stomach flip, makes her smile? The exquisite tenderness of it all? Of snatches of memory of the two of them making love? How could she explain their happiness? Rachel's happiness with Santana? Palpable? Tangible? Eclipsing everything else? Their love luminous and lovely?

She wonders now if Rachel finds nothing beautiful about a relationship and a marriage and a life that she no longer remembers. Santana wonders if Rachel finds beauty now as something one never had that one simply tries to recapture or wants back.

Did Rachel think their relationship, their marriage, their family, their life was now...absurd?

It felt strange that yesterday's truth has become today's lie.

Santana realizes what Rachel's eyes lacked when she'd entered the hospital room that day. Rachel's eyes never registered that love and affection that they always did when she saw Santana. They never lit up. She wonders, how could she do this? Rachel had become all there ever was. All there ever is. Becoming everything. Becoming Santana's whole life. Defining Santana's whole life.

Santana feels like Rachel's already left their life behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel had woken up disoriented and groggy and confused, for an instant bewildered that she isn't staring up her four-poster bed, on pink sheets and pink pillows and pink curtains and pink duvets, but instead is greeted by the taupeness of a room that she, at first, doesn't realize, is hers. Or, well, hers and Santana's, really.

For a moment she lies in the sheets, thinking, looking around, feeling the panic and anxiety crawl up her gut, and into her lungs and into her heart and throat. It's the unfamiliarity of the room that gets to her first, and she is prepared to scream, because this isn't her room, no, not by a long shot, and it's this disorientation, this not-knowing where she is, when every day for the past years she'd woken up at six in the morning, did a morning routine that included exercise, vocalization, shower, a power breakfast before going to school, is what freaks her out.

But then everything else comes to her – waking up in the hospital to a doctor and Santana, getting the shock of her life to know that not only could she not remember a full chunk of her adult life, and that they seem to be gone, but that that same adult life seems to have been spent married to Santana _Lopez_, of all people, having a family with her, having a moderately successful singing and acting career, having a respectable life. She had understandably panicked and hyperventilated and almost lost it, had it not been for her fathers and Kurt being there, walking her through all of it, explaining things patiently, helping her fill the gaps as best as they could – giving her a gist of what her life had been like thus far. It was different having it explained to you, and having Santana, and the children and grandchildren and the daughter-in-law come, though. Santana Lopez, of course, looked as beautiful as ever, and she'd seemed to have aged gracefully, and though she still had that tough look in her eyes, there seemed something different about her – something that Rachel could not quite explain – a certain vulnerability, a weariness, a wiseness and maturity that Rachel hadn't expected this Santana Lopez to have. More than that though, she'd seen something else, something unexplainable, something that puzzled her, unnerved her even. Yes, it was one thing to have your whole life explained in a nutshell, and have living, breathing evidence of that life right before your very eyes.

The children were nice – Suzie reminded her a bit of Brittany, actually. She'd wondered where Brittany had gone – had they divorced? Oh, god, was Rachel the cause of the divorce? Although Rachel wouldn't put it past her self to do something awful like were this high school, having children, family in the equation when it came to divorce just didn't seem right at all. The other girl, Blue, looked a bit like Santana, all dark hair and tan skin and wild, determined eyes, as she'd looked shyly and cautiously at Rachel. She is mildly surprised that Suzie ended up being gay, although the partner, Kate, looked like a tall, beautiful African-Latina goddess, with almond eyes and sharp cheekbones and a petulant pout and a defiant look to her that Rachel liked. Beans and Cody, the grandchildren, adorable.

And yet, and yet, try as she might, she can't seem to feel any connection to them. As if a wire or a rope of connection had been cut between them, so that whenever they talked, or referred to something that Rachel is supposed to know – some prank Suzie used to do at school – a boy glued to his chair, a boy hoisted up a flagpole by his underwear, dyeing a boy blue from head-to-toe, or some antic Blue used to do when _she_ was a child, from minor things like trying to eat everything, or going through a phase of _not_ eating anything, to more severe ones like doodling on Santana's briefs, or throwing them in the garbage or running around screaming in the mall or hitting the other kids during playdates or while they're in the sandbox – Rachel just sits there, trying to look interested, but not getting whatever it is that they're talking about. They might as well speak Greek, really, for all the good it does her. By the nth time her supposed family had visited, she'd wanted to be left alone, but she'd also promised her fathers and Kurt that she would be nice, that this wouldn't be as easy on Santana and her family as it is for her, and that legally, since they are married, she is supposed to be taken cared of by Santana. "You owe it to yourself, at least, to know what your life turned out to be,"Kurt had mentioned to her once, right before she'd agreed to talk to Santana, and she'd been curious herself, at the kind of life she'd ended up having. Plus she hadn't wanted to go back to Lima anyway, since she'd wanted to go to New York since she was little. And so it was that she ended up going home with Santana.

The minute she'd stepped into the foyer, she'd realized the decision to go home with Santana, to see what her life was, might have been a mistake.

The reality of it hadn't sunk in until she'd stepped into the living room, filled with furniture, pictures, toys, everything that indicated she had lived a life with Santana. A life she can no longer remember, and thus can no longer understand or relate to. She had stood there, speechless, and as she looked at all the pieces of her former life, a growing disappointment, frustration had taken hold – a disappointment that she cannot remember, and a disappointment that this was what her life ended up being. She'd envisioned her life being more...successful, greater somehow, and yet standing there, she felt her life looking insignificant, trivial, something she had not expected.

The disappointment grew as she went up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, this one clearly implying that she had shared a room and a bed with Santana Lopez. Her back turned to Santana as she took in the shared bed and the shared dresser and bureau and closet and bathroom, she feels herself blush a little, the bed, most of all, implying so much with its silence. She felt shy all of a sudden, shy and embarrassed and not a little bit tongue-tied, for here was more evidence that she had, indeed, agreed to share her life with Santana Lopez.

There was disappointment in Santana's face, too, whenever she turned to look at Santana, to glance surreptitiously at her. The disappointment was different – the disappointment was in knowing that Rachel did not remember, and with that disappointment, she could see some longing, some quiet desperation as Santana told her where to find more evidence of this so-called life with her, in the laptop, in a diary, in albums, on CDs and DVDs and flash drives and what-not.

Standing there, taking it all in, Rachel had realized how exhausted and overwhelmed she was and she'd responded with the one thing she knew could guarantee that she would be left alone for the night. She had told Santana she was exhausted. She denies this to herself, but she knows that the last look that Santana gives her before she turns in for the night was sadness.

* * *

><p>She hadn't slept right away though.<p>

She couldn't.

Not when she can feel, she can sense, she can hear Santana walking around, by the hallway, down the stairs, shuffling around, opening and closing doors, with a restrained force that Rachel guesses might be controlled frustration, at having found herself in this situation. Santana had never made a secret of her rage, or her inability to control rage, or her other volatile emotions, and there's something to be said about how comforting it is that the more things change, the more things seem to stay the same.

She waits until Santana settles down, until the noises of the house settle down and she can concentrate on sleeping herself. But she finds that she cannot sleep. She realizes that there is a dull headache just behind her temple, that there is discomfort in having to adjust to new surroundings, which are actually old surroundings, which have made it even more confusing, which is what is giving her the headache now. She takes a deep breath, lets the breath out slowly, as she stares up the ceiling, watching shadows made by the streetlights outside dance on the ceiling, and on the walls. The room is immersed in half-darkness, and there's a bit of irrational fear creeping up inside her, fears that she hasn't thought of a long time – monsters under the bed, inside the closet, in the corners, outside, hanging by the windows, or standing by the streetlights, beneath the pool of light, or by the leafless trees down the street. The curtains are darker, but in the gaps between she can see the street below, snow and sludge on the ground, a lone person walking along the sidewalk, an occasional car braving the ice and snow of the street. Beyond the neighborhood, she can hear the distant sound of the city – cars, trucks, sirens, shouts, cries, music, a gunshot or two, the constant, steady hum of a city that never sleeps, the sound that used to promise her something different, a new life, the fulfillment of dreams, a future beyond Lima, but now these very same sounds feel alien to her, feel somehow, foreign, and she has this inexplicable urge to get up and ask Santana to sleep beside her, and an equally inexplicable urge to have Santana hold her, put her arm around her, feel her breath against her cheek, feel her...she stops. She wonders where that random thought had come, how quickly intimate her thoughts had become, and she shakes her head, as if trying to shake herself of those recent thoughts. Of all the things she has realized, it's the fact that she is out and proud and living with a woman for at least three decades. She didn't think she had it in her to do so. She liked to talk about being an outsider, someone who liked to think outside the box and all that, but she knew deep down she was as much a conformist as the next dreamer from a small-town who was afraid to go beyond what was expected of her, for fear of failing. But she seemed to have done fine going above and beyond what other successful people usually did. She hadn't really had any trouble with the being gay part – she grew up with two gay parents, attended PFLAG events and Pride Parade events long before she knew what they meant or signified, hung out in gay nightclubs watching drag queens crack jokes and lip-sync to Abba as they are wont to do, so to some extent, having decided to pursue her gay tendencies wasn't the bigger shock. Not ending up with Finn Hudson (she briefly wonders where he is now) wasn't the biggest shock. Having turned out to be with Santana Lopez this long was. Thinking about Santana Lopez now, beside her, above her, beneath her, was. It feels strange but she feels a ghost of a memory on her, the touch of someone else's on her skin, the feel of someone else's lips on her skin, the feel of someone's arms on her – all soft and sexy and...different. Distinctively different.

She sighs again.

The room is warm, but she finds herself shivering and she buries herself beneath the duvet and as she tries to sleep, she realizes she's never felt more alone than she did now, seemingly having realized every single dream she's ever thought of when she was a just another girl in Lima had turned out differently.

She falls asleep briefly but she keeps waking up from strange dreams, flashes of gunshots, shattered glass, a red light, snowflakes, shouts, darkness. When she falls back asleep again, she dreams of Santana, on a center stage, singing "Don't Rain On My Parade" and she finds Santana with her, rehearsing and performing for "Funny Girl" and then she wakes up, inexplicably confused, because Santana hated Broadway and never showed any inclination for it or interest in Barbra Streisand and as the thought goes through her she falls back to sleep again, and dreams of Santana singing "Every Breath You Take" to her, ending with a grinning Santana telling her that she "can't wait to get physical" with Rachel and she wakes up even more confused, wondering why Santana would be singing to her or saying that to her. On the nth time she wakes up from dreams of Santana singing Beatles and Journey and Bruno Mars songs to her, and after a particularly explicit and intimate dream involving flashes of light and sun, tangled sheets, naked, tanned skin, dark hair, fingers trailing all along her skin, laughter, giggles, lips on her own lips, moans, something filling her from within, a feeling of fullness, a gasp of pleasure, a happiness and contentment so deep she feels herself breathless, suspended between time and space, a raspy voice whispering "I love you" to her, dark eyes staring deep into her, and she focuses her eyes and she sees that it is Santana holding her like she's never held her before...and Rachel's eyes fly open, heart beating fast, feeling a tiny spark of feeling, of desire within her, and she tries to take a deep breath and she gives up trying to sleep and decides to get up, booting the laptop up to see what these files that Santana had mentioned are. At first she'd had some difficulty figuring out what the password was to her laptop, but it took her only a few tries, from her birthday, to her favorite Broadway tunes to finally settling on her favorite star (Barbra Streisand), before she could open the laptop. It took her a few more minutes to locate the files, and open the documents themselves, but as the document is loading, she finds she cannot read it, any of it.

She slams the laptop down, heart pounding away in her chest. She sits in the darkness, in front of the laptop, not knowing what to do. These are parts of Rachel, the old Rachel, now retrieved, the Rachel who loved Santana, the Rachel who had a family, the Rachel who had taken a different path than the Rachel of old, and these will provide an honest look into that life, a way to understand this Rachel that chose Santana, her old enemy, and this life. This indicates that her old life hadn't been erased at all, that they'd just been forgotten, sleeping in the deepest recesses of her brain, and reading these might help her remember. But the thing is, Rachel has never been one to mince words, and she knows that reading it will be painful – it will the Rachel struggling with amnesia reading another Rachel and she thinks maybe she cannot handle it.

When she sees her mobile phone, sitting unused near the laptop, she resists the temptation to turn it on, too.

So she sits there, wanting to leave these parts of her life undiscovered for a while.

She's afraid she will be disappointed again.

Mostly, she's just afraid of finding out things she wouldn't want to find out about herself.

* * *

><p>When the first light of day breaks through the room, she gives up on trying to sleep and throws the duvet over, gets up, does her morning routines and drags her feet down the stairs, unsure if she wants to see Santana waiting for her. After much debate, she grabs her phone, turns it on, scrolls through her contacts, and sends a message to the one person she is familiar and comfortable with. She texts Kurt.<p>

When she arrives at the bottom of the stairs though, she finds, with what she thinks is disappointment, that the living room is empty, that there is no one there, but a sound in the kitchen draws her towards there and she finds a young woman, the name comes to her quickly – it is Blue, in a gray hooded sweatshirt with the words "Chestnut Cannon College" in red letters on it and jeans, eating a bowl of cereals, rather noisily, she thinks. Rachel notices the younger woman is wearing a hearing aid. When Blue sees her, there's a slow grin that spreads on her face, and she wipes away bangs from her face to say, "Hey, Mom" to her and lifting the bowl up to offer it to her and mumbling "Cereal?" while crunching the cereal in her mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Rachel automatically says before she realizes what she is saying and she sees a brief flicker of disappointment in Blue as if she's heard this many times from Rachel in the past, perhaps when she was younger and had not expected her to say this now, when Blue is all grown-up. "Sorry," she quickly says, when she realizes her error.

Blue shrugs. "That's okay. You always do that anyway, so."

There is silence that settles as Blue sits on a stool by the island in the middle of the kitchen and Rachel sits across her, watching her. The kitchen is something she hadn't noticed before. It's simple, functional but looks cozy, as lived in as the rest of the house is. There are the requisite wooden cupboards and the island the table and chairs, windows that look out on the wintry, snow-covered street outside, a dishwasher, a fridge, various accouterments that indicate it is their kitchen, a corkboard near the fridge riddled with post-its and notes, in what Rachel recognizes as her handwriting, small, careful, neat, precise, clear. Seeing her handwriting calms her, seeing that she still writes reminders to herself, and to everybody else, calms her even more. This time it's reminders for things she doesn't understand, but there's time enough to figure that out later. Behind Blue, near the kitchen sink, she can hear the hiss and rumble of a coffee machine, the smell of coffee lingering in the air.

"I can't remember," Rachel begins now. "But...do I like coffee? Is that part of my routine or something?"

Blue pauses for a moment, spoon halfway between the bowl and her mouth and she considers this for a minute, before a glint passes through her eyes and she grins at Rachel mischievously and says, "Oh, yeah, mom, definitely."

Rachel considers this for a second before she says, "I think you're lying."

Blue gives her a hurt look then, but more a look of someone who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar and she says, to save face, "Hey, I wasn't lying. It's true, mom. It's so true."

Rachel finds herself rolling her eyes and says, "Well, can you give me one then?"

Blue makes a noise at the back of her throat, an irritated one, before she says, "Ugh, mom, I'm eating here." When Rachel only looks at her, Blue says, "Alright, alright, I'll get you a cup of coffee."

"Where are your manners? You should offer something to a guest when they come into the house or something," Rachel says now, watching Blue drag herself from the island to grab a coffee cup, pour Rachel a cup and hand it to her.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me mom," Blue says now, resuming her seat on the stool and eating her cereal. "Ugh, why don't you get off my case sometimes..."

It is only then that Blue realizes that of course Rachel is suffering from memory loss and she has this stricken look on her face and she swallows and looks at Rachel and says, "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't...I'm sorry. I..."

Blue just puts down her bowl of cereal and stares at it guiltily, not saying anything.

"It's okay," Rachel says now. When Blue doesn't say anything, Rachel says, "Really, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry, sometimes I still kind of say weird stuff, because of course you wouldn't remember stuff and..." Blue says now, still not looking at her.

"It's fine, really," Rachel says now.

But Blue continues anyway, as if she hadn't heard Rachel. "I mean, when we found out you were in an accident, it felt like the world stopped spinning, you know? Like the world stopped and...well...you woke up and we thought everything was going to be alright and then we realized it wasn't going to be alright..."

Rachel doesn't know what to say to that, and so she stays silent and the silence fills the room and Blue continues, as if desperate to fill the space with noise, with words, as she says, "Mommy San, Suzie – they were devastated...I mean...I don't think Mommy San can ever live without you...she would die without you...and Suzie...Suzie loved you...you were her favorite and she was yours and..."

They fall silent, not knowing what to say, Rachel processing what Blue had just said. She tries to grasp the idea that high school Santana would ever feel like she cannot live, that she would actually die, if she had lost Rachel, and wonders why Suzie who bears no resemblance whatsoever to her, would feel so strongly about losing Rachel as well. She had already deduced that Suzie is Brittany's and Santana's child, that much is obvious – from the blonde hair to the height to the slim build, to the strong, muscular dancer's body that Suzie had, right down to the shape of the face, those eyes that reminded Rachel of the sea, that reminded her of Brittany's eyes. And the way Suzie held herself, with confidence, with that petulant, defiant expression on her face, the way she rolled her eyes, the way she smirked, that is all Santana, Rachel thinks. But there was something in how Suzie had looked at her then, at the hospital, this relief, this joy, this urge to hold Rachel but then holding back at the last minute, that suggested that Rachel had come to mean more to Suzie than her other mother had been that makes Rachel wonder.

"Suzie's Brittany's daughter, right?" Rachel blurts out now, before she can stop herself.

Blue nods, matter-of-factly. "Yeah."

"Where's Brittany now?"

Blue stops, seems to struggle, not knowing what to say. She is unable to look at Rachel as she sits silent for a few moments, before she clears her throat and half-mumbles, "She, um...passed away..."

The silence that stretches between them grows awkward as Blue sits there, not knowing what to do or say.

Rachel doesn't understand it but she feels saddened by this. "She's...gone..."

Blue looks like she is squirming as she nods, unable to look Rachel in the eye, as if this was something that seemed sensitive somehow.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Blue says hesitantly now. "I didn't know her...she was...um...Suzie's mom, and Mom's...before you guys...um, and I don't know if you were close or whatever, but..."

"She's gone...?" she asks again, feeling a sudden loss within her that she hadn't known existed. She and Brittany weren't close, not even by much, but she had figured prominently in her much younger life, and to know that the one of those constants, a person who was always in that Cheerios uniform, a person who always provided back-up singing and dancing, who was always there with Santana, felt a bit strange somehow. She doesn't realize it but she feels her eyes pool with tears.

"Uh, mom, it's..." Blue starts, but stops, not knowing what else to say.

"How long has she been gone?" Rachel asks now.

"Um...a long time," Blue says, looking more uncomfortable. "She...died when Suzie was very young. I think she was four or five then. Suzie kind of...grew up with you and...mom..."

Rachel nods, taking this all in, suddenly realizing why Suzie had looked at her with so much affection and...there she say it? Adoration and worship. Which is a bit different from Blue, who she can tell, cares for Rachel as well, but mostly in that casual way that most young people would have for their parents...she stops, realizing, not for the first time, that Blue really _is_ her daughter. She still couldn't quite believe it the first time it was mentioned, and the second, and the third, but now, looking at Blue, she sees subtle signs that indicate Blue is her daughter as well: the way she lifts her shoulder, the way her lips lift when she smiles, the way she pouts, the way she uses her hands to explain things, they are conductor hands, flitting about, always animated, and it reminds her how she used her hands to do pretty much the same, even the way Blue speaks – fast and slightly high-pitched, but confident and measured, reminds her of herself as well. She still cannot get over the fact though that Blue always has features that remind her of Santana as well. Santana. The name makes her stop. Makes her confused again.

They sit in silence and then Rachel tries to smile at her daughter, and says, "So, um, tell me more about...my life...our life...what it was all like? Like, what's my routine and all that?"

Blue looks at her, uncertainly, before asking, "Mom, are you sure?"

Rachel takes a deep breath and nods. "Yes."

Blue considers this for a moment, before she nods back and says, "Okay."

* * *

><p>Santana walks down the streets of Brooklyn, shivering into her coat, hands in the pockets of her coat, breath coming out in white wisps of smoke, she stops in the middle of the street and gasps, stamping her boots against the pavement. It is the middle of the morning, and the street is still covered with snow, a chill is still in the air, the sky dark and gloomy, the streets practically empty.<p>

"Ugh, I'm getting too old for this," Santana comments out loud. When Sam comes up beside her, panting himself, Santana looks to him and says, "Can't wait for this winter to end! I'm so sick of winter, I swear...I think I'm just going to go crazy..."

"Maybe we should move to, I don't know, Florida or something," Sam says.

Santana looks at him, before she says, "Not with you, we're not. Find your own wife."

Sam laughs, pulling his cap lower over his ears as he does so. Clouds of smoke come out of his lips as he does so. The tufts of hair peeking out from his ear are gray and white now, there are lines around his face, he looks older, more exhausted, but he still looks pretty much like the Sam of high school, tall and muscular, wide grin on his face as he looks at his long-time friend with platonic affection.

"Can't seem to find one," Sam says now. "Most of the girls I dig are all unavailable, or, you know, suffering from amnesia..." He then looks at Santana and with a wicked grin says, "Hey, you think I have a chance with Rachel if..."

Santana doesn't let him finish as she puts her hand out and slaps him on the back of his head. "You're an asshole," she says.

Sam laughs, before saying, "Ow," rubbing the back of his neck in the mean time. "You're so easy to rile up nowadays. You know I was kidding right?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "You know it's not funny."

Sam looks at her softly, before he says, "I know. I'm sorry." He puts his arm around her and says, "It's going to get better, okay?"

Santana nods. "Okay. Thanks for coming. I didn't think I could handle being in the house just yet...what with Rachel not remembering me, us, our life at all...It just seemed very...difficult..."

Sam shrugs. "No worries. I mean, yeah, I'm jetlagged from my trip from Japan, but yeah..."

"Which you won't stop talking about," Santana says.

Sam says, "Hey, it's Japan. It's pretty awesome." He then squeezes Santana's shoulder, smiles and says, "It's going to be okay, okay? Rachel's going to get her memory back and everything's going to be right as rain."

Santana gives him her most withering glare and says, "Your optimism astounds me."

Sam shrugs. "I try."

Santana rolls her eyes again. "Let's go."

Nothing prepares Santana and Sam for what greets them when they enter Santana and Rachel's house. As soon as Santana opens the front door, noise drifts from the kitchen and curious to see what's going on, she purposefully goes to the kitchen and finds various people sitting or standing around, chatting – Blue, Suzie, Kate, Beans, Cody, Hiram, Mrs. Lopez, Quinn, Rachel's agent, McPherson, Rachel's publicist and manager, both of whom are on their way out, nodding to Santana on their way. Everyone looks at Santana when they see her, calling out, "Hey, Santana!" "Hey, Sam!" There's a pot of coffee hissing, steam rising out of the pot, there's eggs and bacon sizzling, Mrs. Lopez by the stove, cooking them, someone's assigned to make everyone coffee, Cody is in his chair, babbling to himself, Beans beside him, palm on chin, watching the adults talk, and the adults are milling around, chatting, laughing, swapping stories. Someone shoves a cup of coffee in her hands before she can say anything or protest that she's been having coffee with Blaine, Sam and Mike earlier. It feels like any other ordinary day wherever family and friends of the Berry-Lopezes are gathered, except there's something missing here. Santana cranes her neck, focuses her eyes, when she realizes, _someone_ is missing.

Where's Rachel? she wonders. She takes a step back from the kitchen, not wanting anyone to alarm everyone, but as soon as she's out of the kitchen, she's in the living room, looking for Rachel, and in the office, and up the stairs, on the landing, looking in both directions, before she goes through each room, Suzie's first, then Blue's, where Blue's duffel bag has been carelessly dropped, then finally, the master bedroom, which is as empty as all the other rooms in the house.

Santana tries to push down the anxiety and panic that's threatening to well up in her chest.

Where is Rachel? She wonders again, frantic and worried.

* * *

><p>Rachel sits huddled on the couch clutching a cup of steaming green tea between her hands, staring into it as Kurt stands by the kitchen talking on the phone. From the snatches of words she can hear, she can guess Kurt is talking to Santana, just from how exasperated Kurt is, with words like, "Why would I lie to you Santana? She's not here...yeah...I'll call you if she calls me..."<p>

Kurt's lowers his voice and Rachel can no longer hear him, so she goes back to staring at her cup of tea. When that proves boring, she starts to stare out at the Manhattan skyline. Kurt's apartment, situated on one of the higher floors of the building, affords her an interesting view of Manhattan. The apartment itself is nice, spacious, roomy, with a living room, and a kitchen and a couple of bedrooms. But what is noticeable is a large space by the living room, filled with racks of clothes, a sewing machine, different kinds of fabric in different kinds of colors – muslin, denim, cotton, silk, taffeta, satin, velvet - sketchpads with different kinds of drawings on them, pencils, tape measure, pins, needles, different kinds of sewing threads, ribbons, sashes, tulle, and other accouterments that a fashion designer has, carefully arranged. There's are full-body and half-body plastic mannequins, standing or propped against the wall, or window, with newly-designed tops, skirts, dresses and pants on them. Kurt had apparently designed them. The clothes are actually nice, in a creative, but strange sort of way. Kurt had told her he'd actually made a decent living being a designer.

She sighs. She'd thought Kurt had always wanted to be a singer – now he's a fashion designer. It was yet another overwhelming information that she'd absorbed as she sat listening to Kurt tell her what his life had been for the past few years.

Rachel had left the house shortly after the nth visitor had arrived, asking her how she is, how she is feeling, looking at her with pity and concern, telling her they understood if she couldn't remember them, that they'd be there for her, if she needed anything. It had begun to annoy her. And as she struggled to put the irritation and anxiety and nervousness and panic down, she'd found herself backing away from the kitchen, scrambling for her phone, checking for messages, and finding, to her relief, that Kurt had replied, and had invited her for tea if she was available. She'd replied that she needed Kurt to pick her up as soon as possible. When Kurt had asked when, she'd replied with a frantic and desperate, "Now."

She'd stepped out of the building, telling the others she needed some air, but once she is out, she starts to a walk a bit on the street, realizing that she is unfamiliar with the place. The panic rises in her gut, and she looks around, turns a corner, doesn't know what to do, or where to turn, but she spots a restaurant, Luigi's, and she approaches it, leans by the wall, texts Kurt to get her from there, and he does and here they are, finding themselves in Kurt's apartment.

So she'd spent the rest of her morning catching up with Kurt. When Kurt is done talking on the phone, he comes up, drops on the couch beside her, and says, "Sorry about that."

Rachel shakes her head, "No, it's fine."

Kurt nods, grabs his cup of hot choco and takes a sip from it. There is silence in the apartment for a while. Rachel hates it. The silence that seems to fill rooms where she is. She'd noticed it when she was at the hospital, notices it when she starts to talk with people – Suzie, Blue, Santana, other people. It's like she's forgotten how to make conversation, it's like she's a car that has been left outside, in the snow for years, left to rust, or in the garage, gathering dust, and she's been taken out and they're trying to start her, but she keeps stopping, stalling, unable to make progress, unable to move, to make progress. She feels like she's broken, and she can't be fixed.

Add to the fact that she's got so much to catch up on: a family that has grown and done things without her remembering, a wife she cannot remember marrying or being with, or even _loving_, people dying or dead – she'd been upset by the news that Brittany had died, and had been even more upset after finding out that Finn, love of her life, had passed away as well, feeling like her heart had been wrenched away from her chest and the pain is so awful it makes it difficult to breathe - and she has this career that demands her full attention – as evidenced by her agent telling her she has rehearsals and interviews and television shows and movies to shoot and apparently, an album to work on. Her agent had told her that of course, she'd be allowed to take a break, but that because everyone else had been on a schedule, they'd had to get other actors to do what she was supposed to do.

Rachel sighs again, feeling overwhelmed, not knowing what to do.

It all feels too much somehow.

She wonders if she can survive it all.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana stands in front of Kurt's apartment, about to knock on the door.

She's nervous and anxious and she's not entirely sure what's going to happen, but Rachel had refused to come home for a couple of days, and Santana had known instinctively that Rachel would seek out Kurt first, more than anybody else, that she'd seek refuge in Kurt's friendship and familiarness and the reminder that they'd been friends in high school and Kurt had always tried to be there for her. Kurt didn't even need to say that Rachel was there when Santana had called, she knew Rachel was there, even if Kurt had denied it out loud. The other unspoken agreement between them was that Rachel would be given time to absorb, to adjust, but Santana is anxious and a couple of days is enough before she starts getting nervous. Having Rachel somewhere else, knowing she's somewhere else, has made Santana feel like she's lost an arm, or a leg, feeling incomplete without Rachel in the house. But she'd given her wife space, because she thinks she needs it.

She raises her fist to knock on the door, but then Kurt opens it and they stand there, in surprise, staring at each other before Kurt stands forward and holds Santana.

"Hey," Kurt says now. "How're you holding up?"

Santana smiles. "I'm good." She steps back, releases Kurt and says, anxiously, "Where is she?"

Kurt answers, "She's... in there..."

"Can I talk to her for a sec?" Santana asks.

Kurt shrugs. "Sure. I'll give you a minute. Have to go to the store anyway. We're out of soy milk. Well, Rachel's out of soy milk. And apparently I have to get her some green tea and some vegan bread and some scented candles and..."

Santana nods and says, absently, "Yeah, there's a whole drawer of scented candles at home..."

Kurt continues as if he hasn't heard Santana at all. "Apparently I'm her best gay again, like I'm some kind of accessory and it's making me feel weird and..."

He stops and looks at Santana then, "Alright, can we just stop and talk about the fact that Rachel Berry has a whole drawer dedicated to scented candles?"

Santana just grins.

He looks at Santana now, "I know you care for her and love her and whatever, and don't be mad but...I'd forgotten how much of a diva she can get...I mean, how can you stand it?!"

Santana looks at him, not knowing what to say, before she breaks out in an amused smile and says, "Well, as you said, it's true love."

Kurt snorts. "Whatever. Love is overrated."

Santana shrugs. "Used to think that, too. Then I met Rachel..."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "It's always about her, isn't it?" Kurt asks.

Santana smiles again, as Kurt takes a step back to let Santana in. She peers into the living room and catches a glimpse of Rachel by the couch, watching some show on television and she says, smiling fondly at the sight of Rachel's back, "It always is."

She turns to Kurt now and Kurt says, "I'm gone...You guys better be gone when I get back...I have _not _missed having Rachel as my roommate!"

Santana stares at him incredulously, "You were like, roommates once!"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

As Santana makes to enter Kurt's condo, Kurt stops, and says, "So glad you're here. Maybe if you can convince her to go home, the paparazzi would leave me alone and stop harassing me for pictures or scoop about your wife!"

Santana smiles as Kurt continues, "I mean, ugh, one of them's kind of cute and all that, he has like the prettiest eyes I've ever seen and..." When Santana raises her eyebrows in exasperation, Kurt says, "But that's not the point! The point is I've had it with these rags calling me and bothering me and..."

Santana just nods, impatiently, wanting to get to her wife then, and Kurt seems to have noticed that because he says, "Alright, I'm going now."

As Kurt leaves in a huff, muttering about being offended at being called best gay and being Rachel Berry's errand boy, Santana quietly takes a few steps through Kurt's apartment, stopping only a few yards from Rachel, just watching Rachel watch the television in silence. When she finally gets the courage to say something, she clears her throat and croaks out, "Hey".

Rachel turns, does a double take, lets out a squeak of surprise and says, "Oh my god, you scared me."

Santana smiles. "Sorry."

Rachel shakes her head. "It's okay."

Santana debates whether she should join Rachel on the couch, but she spots a love seat near Rachel and decides to sit on that instead.

They sit there in silence, Santana not knowing what to say, or how to start even, and Rachel sitting near her, face impassive, just watching the television. Then Santana's phone buzzes and she takes it and answers it. She waits for a response and the phone buzzes again, so she sits there responding to messages from her phone.

After a few minutes and after she's done responding to messages, Santana says, "I'm sorry."

Rachel looks at her, before she turns back to the television and says, "What do you have to be sorry about?"

Rachel doesn't it to be mean, she says it flatly, and Santana says, "I know you're freaked out, and there were too many people and..."

"People kept telling me stuff like I should eat this because I used to love eating it before the accident, or I should totally drink this or that, because I used to drink all that before the accident or I should listen to this because I loved listening to all that," Rachel says, interrupting her. "And it just got very overwhelming...and I don't like being told what I used to do or love or eat or drink or watch or whatever..."

Santana swallows. "I know. I should've known that kind of crowd would have freaked you out. I'm sorry."

Rachel nods. They fall silent again, not knowing what to say. Then, because Santana feels like Rachel needs to be left alone, she moves forward, making to get up from off the chair and says, "Okay. I've got to go."

"Where are you going?" Rachel asks,a slight alarm on her face.

"Um, home," Santana replies. She gives Rachel a gentle smile, before she says, "I really just needed to make sure you were okay. If you need anything, or like, if you feel like going home or something just give me a call or anything. I know how Kurt can get and stuff."

Rachel lets out a curious sound that Santana thinks might be halfway between a whine and a snort. She looks at Rachel then.

"I'd forgotten how much of a diva Kurt can get," Rachel says now, by way of explanation when Santana looks at her curiously.

Santana grins and nods. "Yeah, he does get like that."

"I mean, we've been best friends for ages, I know, but god," Rachel says now. "He's just..."

Santana nods again. "I know. But he's always been there for you and he's never let you down and..."

"I mean, sure, he's my best gay and everything..."

"Honey," Santana begins, before she stops and corrects herself, "_Rachel_, I don't think he appreciates it when you refer to him as your best gay..."

Rachel just looks at her then and says, "Well, why not? It's funny and he always has been my best gay..."

"Yeah, but don't you think it's a bit like...treating him like an accessory or a pet or something?" Santana points out carefully now, for fear of offending Rachel. "I mean, I know you mean well, but I don't think he likes it..."

Rachel considers this for a second before she says, "Oh."

"Yeah," Santana says again.

"But I've always used it..."

"In high school, sure," Santana says now, looking apologetic, "Which makes it so high school and a little bit dated...and stuff...Kurt's never liked it. Sorry...He's..."

Rachel nods slowly now. "Okay..."

They are silent for a while then Rachel suddenly speaks up. "Let's go home."

"...He's your best friend," Santana finishes, before she stops and says, "Wait, what?"

Rachel looks down timidly. "Let's go home," she says, more softly now. She looks up at Santana then. "I mean, if that's okay with you. I wouldn't presume..."

Santana is nodding and saying, "No, no, it's fine. I'll take you home. Your dad's checked in at a hotel and he's going home tonight, and I think we can still get you a ticket and..."

Rachel looks at her, puzzled. "I meant, go home, with you, to Brooklyn..."

Santana stops, lets this sink in before she says, "Oh."

Rachel smiles. "Yes."

"Oh, right, yeah, okay," Santana says, confused now.

"I mean, if that's okay with you," Rachel says now.

Santana shakes her head, smiling so hard it hurts. "It's okay."

"I mean, as long as, you know, everyone takes it easy, and not pressure me into remembering stuff, I think we're okay," Rachel says.

Santana nods. "Okay."

Just at that moment, Kurt comes in and announces, "Okay, your soy milk and green tea are here and I bought some vegan bread, too and scented candles..."

Santana stands up. "Um, better not take them out of the bag..."

Kurt stops. "Why?"

Santana says, "Um, Rachel's going home..."

Kurt's face comically goes from disappointed to concerned to delighted all in the space of a second and Rachel and Santana both roll their eyes as Rachel says, "You don't need to be happy about it."

"I'm not," Kurt insists, but he is grinning as he says this. "I'm glad you're working this out. Might I suggest using the scented candles for whatever 'catching up' you might need to do? It will do wonders for you guys, I think..."

Kurt stops when Santana glares at him. Both Santana and Rachel blush furiously though even as Kurt speaks. Santana's phone buzzes again and she takes out her phone to respond. But then her phone rings and she answers it with a "Hey, what's up?" She quickly excuses herself from Rachel and Kurt and talks into the phone in a low, soothing tone, pausing for a few seconds each time to listen to what is being said on the other line and responding after. When she is done, she rejoins the others with a smile, pocketing her phone after.

After saying their goodbyes to Kurt, Santana and Rachel finally leave Kurt's condo, and as they step out into the hallway, Rachel grabs Santana's hand and they make their way to the elevator, holding hands.

* * *

><p>Rachel had expected the trip to Brooklyn to be quiet, but she is surprised when they both step out of Kurt's condo building and there are a couple of photographers hanging around on the street. She doesn't notice them at first, only vaguely registers a man in a thick jacket and jeans, with greasy, curly hair, a camera and a bag slung on his body, another man in a shirt and jeans with a baseball cap over his sandy hair standing across from him. She wonders briefly why Santana suddenly puts an arm around her more protectively and moves as if to shield Rachel from something. The street is almost deserted. It is the tail end of winter, the landscape still covered in snow and sludge, the atmosphere still cold, so she thinks Santana is just concerned for her and trying to keep her warm. The thought makes her smile and blush. Earlier Santana had made sure Rachel was properly wrapped, helping her with her scarf and her coat and insisting she carry the stuff Rachel made Kurt buy. Finally, Rachel had snapped at Santana and said, "Santana, I just had an accident, I'm not an invalid or anything..." which makes Santana blush and apologize profusely.<p>

When the greasy-haired man comes and, to Rachel's surprise, starts to take photos of Rachel, even as he says, "Miss Berry, how are you feeling? When are you going back to work? Got anything to say to your fans out there?"

Rachel is so surprised by the flashing bulbs and the barrage of questions, especially since the other photographer now comes to start taking photos of Rachel and Santana moves forward even more, and says, "Miss Berry's really tired and would really appreciate it if you could just back off." Santana says it in this cold, impartial voice that Rachel later realizes is Santana's lawyer voice.

The photographers though don't seem to listen as they click away and the greasy-haired man says, "Do you have any idea when your next project will come out?...Could you move a little Miss Lopez so we can take a better photo?" Then the sandy-haired baseball cap man says, "Do you have anything to say about Alice Troy getting your lead on the Broadway revival of 'Funny Girl'?"

Rachel leans over and whispers Santana, "I have a lead on 'Funny Girl'?"

The sandy-haired baseball cap man continues, "Do you have anything to say about Bryan Cameron saying Alice Troy would be a better Fanny Bryce than you?"

Rachel whispers again, "Who's Bryan Cameron?"

Santana replies, "Yeah, you got the lead on 'Funny Girl' and Bryan Cameron's this hotshot Hollywood director who wanted to do a bit of Broadway..."

"Oh,"Rachel replies.

"Do you have anything to say about what Alanna Vergara saying you're a diva and you're hard to work with and..."

Rachel looks at Santana then, with a quizzical look on her face and Santana just shakes her head and turning to the photographers, squinting and blinking from the flashes of the camera, and says, "Please, Miss Berry has been through a lot and she just needs to go home and get some rest..."

They reach Santana's car, parked by the sidewalk, without further incident, and after Santana makes sure Rachel is wearing her seatbelt – she'd opened the door for Rachel, and had leaned over to check the seatbelt, her head so close to Rachel that Rachel can smell her, something fragrant and, to Rachel at least, a scent that's so distinctly Santana that Rachel immediately has flashes of naked skin and laughter in her mind's eye. Santana's proximity, her warmth, her breath on Rachel's neck as she makes sure the seatbelt is secure, and the flash of a memory makes Rachel blush again. When Santana is sure that Rachel is okay, she walks around to get into the driver's seat and after she checks that everything is okay, she turns to Rachel and says, "You'll be okay, right?"

Rachel nods, but she asks, wondering, "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Um, well," Santana says, looking clearly like she's debating whether she should say something or not, but then she says, indicating the photographers who have now retreated, "Because of the photographers and all that stuff they were saying. They're paparazzi for those gossip mags you hate – they like to rile celebrities up and stuff...I don't think any of that stuff is true...and Bryan Cameron is a dick and an asshole, so don't worry about it." Then she pauses for a bit before she says, "And um..." Santana clears her throat and then she continues, "I know you've...been in a car accident and...this might be a trigger...and..."

"It's fine. I'm going to be okay," Rachel says.

Rachel looks at Santana then, looks at the concern etched on her face, her eyes looking all soft and affectionate and Rachel feels her heart lurch, and she blinks in confusion. Santana then leans over, and with the tip of her finger brushes away a lock of hair from Rachel's face and says, with much concern and gentleness on her expression and in her voice that it surprises Rachel, "You sure?"

Rachel swallows and nods. "Yes."

* * *

><p>Santana looks at her steadily then, before she nods, pulls her hand away and turns to the car, turning the car on and fully concentrating now on pulling out of the side of the road, and into the icy road.<p>

Santana drives in silence, occasionally glancing at Rachel and smiling, whilst Rachel leans over to fiddle with the stereo dial, letting the music of a jazz station go through the car.

After a few minutes of this silence, Rachel chooses to break it by saying, "You didn't tell me Brittany's...passed away..."

The car slows to a stop as they come to a red light and Rachel can see Santana gripping the steering wheel as she waits for the light to turn green. There is some silence again, before Santana says, softly, "I...didn't think it was that important...to you..."

Rachel thinks about this but before she can speak, the light turns green and Santana quickly shifts gears and guns the car across the road.

"It is important...to me," Rachel says now.

Santana is silent, seemingly more intent on driving through the snow-covered roads than answering Rachel, eyes never leaving the road.

"She was my friend too, you know," Rachel continues. "You could have at least mentioned that..." When Santana doesn't say anything, Rachel says, "I think I deserved to know that...especially since...you married her before we got together..."

"Look, I didn't think you needed to learn all that after you woke up and couldn't even remember me, okay?" Santana says now. When Rachel makes to say something, Santana swiftly looks at her and says, "Look, can you just...please drop it? I really don't want to talk about this right now..."

Rachel wants to say something more but she closes her mouth.

They do not speak for the rest of the way.

* * *

><p>On their way home, Rachel spots an old fashioned art gallery with large posters in front advertising a new exhibit of still-lifes. Rachel turns to Santana then and excitedly says, "Can we check this out?"<p>

Santana looks at Rachel then and says, "Okay."

As Santana makes to turn a corner, Rachel says, "I mean, like, right now..."

Santana registers surprise then, but as it is late in the morning, and neither she nor Rachel have nowhere else to go, she nods and after she finds some parking, they both troop to the art museum, which, surprisingly, is open.

They wonder around the gallery, looking at paintings, and Santana wonders why Rachel is suddenly interested at paintings but thinks better of asking Rachel questions. Meanwhile, as Rachel goes around checking the paintings, Santana's phone continually buzzes and she replies to each one patiently, smiling a bit to herself as she does so. By the nth time Santana replies to her phone, Rachel is curious about who is always sending her text messages.

Before they leave the gallery, Rachel has Santana purchase some pencils, charcoal and a sketchpad in the souvenir shop inside the gallery, promising to pay Santana back when they get home. Santana just shakes her head "no" and says, "It's fine."

They both leave the gallery with Rachel visibly happier than Santana has ever seen her, trying to sketch some things on the pad she's bought.

* * *

><p>When they get home, they are greeted by Blue in the kitchen, eating, with Beans and Cody with her.<p>

Rachel stops just outside the kitchen, and Santana stops, worried, before she says, "I'm sorry...Suzie and Kate sometimes drop them off here or Blue picks them up after school and they come pick them up just before they go home..."

Santana is about to say something else, but Rachel just shakes her head and smiles. "It's okay. I think the grandkids are adorable."

Santana grins. "I know, right?"

Rachel laughs a little.

Santana looks at her then and gives her this smile that makes Rachel feel her face heat up again. _What is wrong with me? _She asks herself.

"Ready?" Santana asks.

Rachel nods.

Santana then pushes the door and it reveals Blue and their grandchildren all by the counter, Cody in his chair, Beans in a bigger one and Blue in a stool, Blue and Beans eating burgers and Cody putting something in his mouth, his face, hands and clothes all covered in something brown that Rachel suspects is chocolate. Blue and Beans have some sauces smeared on their faces – Rachel guesses it's ketchup, mayonnaise and mustard. She can smell the unmistakable smell of bacon, burger patties and some other

When they hear the door swing open and see both Rachel and Santana, they all say, "Hey, Moms!" "Hi, Gram!" "Gwam!"

Santana makes a face and then breaks into a smile as she makes a beeline for Beans, then Cody and hugs each one in turn, before she goes and runs a hand on Blue's shoulder. Blue just grins at her.

"What on earth are you guys eating?"Santana asks now. Her phone buzzes again and she absently replies to it.

Blue just grins and says, "Apocalypse burger...from Goldblum's. It's awesome."

"Apocalypse burger?" Rachel asks, as she comes up beside Santana. She indicates with a finger that Santana has some ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise on her face, but Santana doesn't immediately understand it so to Santana's surprise, Rachel leans in to wipe the ketchup from near Santana's lips.

Santana blushes.

Blue, oblivious, says, "It's like, the most awesome burger in the world! It has like, burger and bacon and pork and beef and like, _foie gras_ and everything!"

"Bacon is awesome!" Beans says.

Blue nods enthusiastically. "Bacon always makes everything better!"

Santana and Rachel both make a face before Santana says, "Two words. Heart attack before you're thirty."

Blue just rolls her eyes good-naturedly and Santana leans in to Rachel, a hand lightly on the small of Rachel's back and asks, "You want some tea or something?"

Rachel turns at about the same time Santana leans in and Rachel's forehead collides with Santana's nose and Santana says, "Ow!" and Rachel's hand goes up to touch Santana's cheek and she smiles and says, "Sorry. You kind of weaved when I..."

Santana shakes her head. "It's fine."

"Trivia time!" Beans announces excitedly now. "Grammy Rachel, did you know that Brazil is the only country named after a tree?"

Rachel looks at her, before she says, "Did you know that little thing above your top lip is called a filtrum? And that five years, half a decade, is a lustrum?"

Beans beams at her. "Did you know male turtles grunt, female turtles hiss?"

Rachel grins. "Did you know every state in the Union has a town called Springfield?"

Beans grins back. "Cool! Do you know that the difference between a fruit and a vegetable is that off the vine fruit ripens and the vegetable just rots?"

Rachel says, "Do you know that if spread your arms just like this..." and Rachel spreads her arms, almost collding with Santana and Blue in the process, "Middle finger to middle finger, it's equivalent to your height?"

Santana quips "Did you know that the distance from your wrist to your elbow is the length of your foot?"

Rachel continues, "And that your ears and nose never stop..."

And together Rachel and Santana say, "Growing..."

"Um, I think I'm just going to rest and take a shower and take you up on that tea later, is that okay?" Rachel says now, enjoying the feeling of Santana's hand lightly pressing against the small of her back.

Santana and Blue nod as Beans declares, "I'm done! Can I watch some TV?" to which Santana nods to.

Beans happily hops off to the living room with Rachel following her. In a second the kitchen door opens and closes and they can hear Rachel's footsteps on the stairs.

When the footsteps recede, Blue resumes eating her burger and after swallowing, she says, "You okay, Mom?"

Santana nods.

Blue nods back.

* * *

><p>An hour later, in which Rachel still hasn't come back, Beans is still in the living room and both Suzie and Kate have come to pick the kids up, Cody in Kate's arms, napping away contentedly, Suzie says, "So, like, Mom Rachel is okay and stuff?"<p>

Santana shrugs. "Don't...know exactly. She seems okay enough."

"I'm just glad you got her to come home," Blue says now, eating a leftover pizza she'd just heated up in the microwave.

Suzie makes a face at Blue now and says, "I can't believe you can eat at a time like this."

"Bite me," Blue says to her sister good-naturedly.

Kate says, "She must have freaked out about all these things she can't remember."

Santana nods. "Yeah, she did."

Kate nods. "I could tell. She had this look last time...like she was trapped in a cage of hyenas and..."

Santana says, "Yeah..."

Suzie looks at Santana now with concern on her face. "Any luck with bringing back memory her ?"

Santana shakes her head. "Nope."

Kate says, "So, like she still can't remember anything?"

Santana says, "I'm afraid so."

Blue nods. "So sorry, Mom. I kinda mentioned about Brittany and...and that seemed to upset her a bit...they were friends too or something, weren't they? Suzie said..."

Santana nods. "It's fine."

Suzie looks at her mother thoughtfully, before she says, "Have you, like, ever attempted to kind of...you know..." and here Suzie blushes a little as she runs a hand on her blonde hair, "Seduce her and get it on with her or something...?"

As Santana is trying to sip a cup of tea, she almost spits out the tea and instead, chokes on it, as Blue starts to snigger beside her.

Kate puts out a hand hits Suzie on the shoulder. "Suzie!"

Suzie looks at Kate innocently. "What? It was an honest-to-goodness question. It might help...jog mom's memory or something..."

Santana makes a face as she tries to stifle her coughs and Blue happily snickers beside her.

Suzie, unaware of Santana's reaction, continues to speak, thoughtfully, "I mean, maybe you guys just need to have sex or something..."

"Okay, this has just gotten weird," Kate says.

Blue recovers enough to say, "Yeah, I mean, what's Mommy Rachel's favorite sexual position or something? How does she like to be touched?"

This time Kate tries to hit Blue on the arm and Blue avoids Kate as she laughs. But both Blue and Suzie look at Santana quizzically.

Santana just glares at both her children, while trying not to blush too much, before she says, "Okay, this is too weird...and you guys are gross."

"Mom, this might really help you guys," Blue says, trying to keep a straight face.

"I'm not saying you guys are jerks," Santana begins, "But you guys are..."

Suzie and Blue grin angelically as Kate rolls her eyes.

"While I think that one has merit," Kate begins, "I should think Mom should take other Mom out on a date first, don't you guys think so?"

Blue grins evilly. "That's a good idea. 'Course Suzie wouldn't have thought of that. Didn't you guys skip that part and went on to getting it on first?"

Suzie leans over to hit Blue on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Blue pretend-howls.

"Which reminds me...how did you guys hook up anyway?" Blue asks Santana now, looking at her curiously. "I only ask 'cause...you know, you could recreate your first date or something so that could help Mom remember..."

"Yeah, make mom fall in love with you again!" Suzie adds hopefully, smiling as encouragingly as Blue. "Bring on the romance!"

Santana blushes before Santana even finishes the sentence, because she suddenly remembers how she and Rachel got together the first time.

"Where is Mom anyway?" Kate asks now, looking around, as if to change the subject.

Santana, glad for a reprieve, says, "I'm just going to go check on her."

When she goes up the stairs, the bedroom is empty, and without thinking, she goes to the bathroom, pushes the door and a thick steam of smoke is covering the room and she squints a little trying to see into the steam before it clears a bit and she sees Rachel stepping out of the shower, naked but for a towel she is about to drape on her body and Rachel sees her at about the same time Santana does and they both freeze, both open-mouthed, not knowing what to say to each other, and Santana's eyes idly travel to Rachel's body before Rachel manages to wrap the towel on her body and she says, "Don't you knock?"

Santana recovers enough to say, "Sorry, sorry, my bad," as she takes a step back, saying, "There was a lot of steam, and I thought something was wrong, not that a lot of steam means there's something wrong, I mean a little steam doesn't hurt anyone and..." she stops, realizing she's rambling and then she says, loudly, "Sorry, your tea's ready and Suzie and Kate and the others are downstairs."

When she goes back down, Suzie and Blue resume the business of making their mother uncomfortable when Suzie says, "So, Mom, what do you think of vaginal rejuvenation programs?"

"Yeah, are they better or worse than colonoscopies?" Blue says in an amused, joking way.

"More importantly, Mom, is sex better when you hit middle-age or not?" Suzie asks now, face all serious. She is about to say something else but Kate hits her on the arm again.

"I hate you guys," Santana mutters.

Blue just grins then and says, "If you are planning to, you know, seduce Mom, better do it with music."

"And candles. Scented ones," Suzie adds.

"And if you're going to play music, choose a live one – like a live concert by Coltrane or Barry White," Blue says, eyes twinkling. "So there's applause every few minutes."

Suzie and Blue look at each other and laugh as Santana blushes.

Just then, Rachel comes, ending that awkward conversation and they move to more mundane topics. Right before Blue, Suzie, Kate and their kids leave though, Suzie and Blue lean over to Santana though and whisper, "Mom, think about it. It might help."

"Shut up," Santana hisses.

The girls laugh as Santana slams the door on their faces.

* * *

><p>As soon as the girls leave, Santana sets about preparing dinner. Rachel offers to help but Santana refuses to let her and after a while, Santana has the meal prepared for them.<p>

Dinner itself is good, and she's succeeded in warding off that store-bought chemical aftertaste. Rachel compliments her on her cooking and Santana blushes, pleased despite herself. Cooking was a challenge Santana learned late in life, and when Rachel politely asks how Santana learned to cook, "Owing to the fact that you never showed any indication back in high school that you are capable of doing something for another person that didn't benefit you..." which makes Santana speechless and blush so hard Rachel backtracks and apologizes and Santana says, "You taught me", which, in turn makes Rachel speechless.

Santana gets up to clear the table and wash the dishes, and Rachel expresses how impressed she is with Rachel's dishwashing and organizational skills, saying, "You clean all that stuff like you've worked in a restaurant before..."

Santana stops and says, "I _have _worked in a restaurant before. In a diner. Back in Louisville. While I was doing my undergrad and when I was in law school."

Thankfully, after the dishes are finished, there is no more need for small talk as they decide to watch a bit of television, awkwardly sitting beside each other, watching a re-run of "True Delights" as Rachel confusedly stares at the screen, determinedly trying to understand the many different species that keep turning into different magical creatures and back as they sing songs whilst Santana tries to look at her in the corner of her eye, trying to suppress an amused smile at how adorable Rachel looks, staring blankly at the screen.

When Rachel begins to yawn, Santana takes that as a cue to sleep, and she yawns herself, announcing, "Time for bed" and Rachel seems disappointed by that. In the bedroom, Santana grabs her pillows and Rachel just looks towards what Santana is holding and says, "What's that?"

Santana looks down and says, "My pillows."

Rachel says, "I know that. What are you doing?"

Santana says, "Sleeping on the couch tonight. Or maybe Blue's room. Or not. Blue's room has stuff growing in it that need to be named and christened..."

"That's ridiculous," Rachel says matter-of-factly now. "That's a perfectly comfortable, large bed, and it could accommodate the two of us fine."

Santana looks at her. "You sure? I mean...if you don't remember anything about us being together and you haven't actually shared a bed with anyone for longer than...a few minutes or however long it takes to, you know, do the deed, won't it freak you out to share a bed with me?"

Rachel has this slow, meaningful grin on her face now and she says, "Don't worry. We're just going to sleep. I'm not going to, like, seduce you or anything. I won't even take advantage of you or try to cop a feel. You are more than welcome to spoon or cuddle with me though if you want." When Santana just stares at her, not knowing what to say, Rachel says, "Although, if that doesn't help me remember, I'd probably seriously take your daughter's suggestion about...you know...sleeping with me...that might really help us with our predicament I think..."

Santana just blushes harder.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Rachel says then.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Good to know you haven't forgotten your awful sense of humor."

Later, after Rachel has washed her face, exfoliated, changed and on the right side of the bed, asking Santana, "Okay if I sleep on this side?"

Santana says, "That's actually my side of the bed."

So Rachel says, "Oh. You want to switch?"

Santana shakes her head. "No, it's fine. It feels a bit weird, but it's fine..."

As they settle into the duvet, getting comfortable underneath it in the darkness, they lie in comfortable silence for a few moments, not saying anything.

Santana's phone buzzes then and she reads it quickly, face expressionless before replying, and putting the phone down.

Santana hears a rustle in the bedsheets and she hears movement and she turns and Rachel is lying on her left side, head propped up on her left hand as she looks at Santana then.

"You've got a secret admirer or something who likes to text you?" Rachel asks now.

Santana blushes and shakes her head. "No, no...it's..." she hesitates, "It's just...Quinn. She's been going through a tough time...just wanted to make sure she was okay..."

Rachel lets this sink in for a moment before she says, "So, you're like BFFs now or something?"

Santana looks at her then and says, "Jealous much?"

Rachel screws up her face and says, defensive, "No, no, I'm not."

Santana smirks. "Right."

Rachel blushes, before she smiles and says, "I'm sorry."

Santana looks at her. "For what?"

"About...Brittany," Rachel says. "It was insensitive of me, I'm sorry."

Santana is silent for a few moments, before she says, "It's fine. You didn't know. You couldn't have known." There is another awkward silence again, before Santana says, "I'm sorry you had to...find out about Finn like that..."

Rachel starts to shake her head. "No, no, it's fine..."

"I was waiting for the right time to break that to you..." Santana continues.

"But it's never the right time, is it?" Rachel says. "I mean, how do you break news like that to someone?"

She sighs then and Santana nods.

"I'm sorry, too..." Santana says, hesitantly. When Rachel looks at her, wondering, Santana continues, "About...you know...Finn..."

Rachel doesn't say anything at first, but then she slowly lifts one shoulder and says, softly, "It's...fine...I mean...it upset me, sure...and I needed to get a grip...and a time to grieve...since I'd lost my memory and couldn't even remember a time before now when he wasn't...alive...but...it was high school wasn't it?"

Rachel is surprised as she says it that it is true – though time for her seems to have disappeared between young adulthood and middle-age, she is quite surprised that it feels a bit like it had been a long time ago, that she thinks about high school, and the many people that inhabited it, including Finn Hudson, with a wistful longing, but that it didn't feel like the end of the world. No, not at all. Could it be, she wondered, if the reason behind it is because she'd already mourned it the first time, and that high school seems so far away now, viewed from more than thirty years, it gives her a bit of perspective, finds herself both confusingly a bit distant from and close her young self.

There is a strained silence after that, during which Santana can hear Rachel rustling, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the duvet, hearing the other woman take deep breaths, as if feeling impatient, or wanting to ask something. When Rachel realizes no sound is forthcoming from Santana, she decides to speak up.

Rachel says, "You didn't use to be so quiet."

Santana says, "I'm just listening."

Rachel says, "I haven't exactly been quiet."

Santana says, "No."

Rachel says, "Speech has value."

Santana says, "I don't know what to say."

Rachel says, "I can't believe...that I cared about you though. In high school. I worshiped you. You and Quinn. You used to walk down the halls, like you owned it."

Santana shrugs, "I worked at it. I was a bitch."

Rachel nods. "You were."

Santana doesn't know it, but it hurts to hear these things.

Rachel says, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings...I mean...You're not what I expected. I still can't believe you married me. You couldn't have married me. You're too unstable to get married...You drift and tumble."

Santana says, "Well, someone had to marry you. Doing the thankless thing sometimes is part of growing up."

"Hey!" Rachel says, visibly and comically offended. "Marrying me is a thankless thing?!"

Santana grins. "I'm kidding..."

Rachel is silent for a while, before she says, "Well, I never expected us to end up together...I mean, god knows, the processing that would entail would break my already fragile brain but...if it had to be someone other than...well...whoever I expected to marry, like, I don't know...off the top of my head, Ryan Seacrest..."

"Eeww, just got a visual..."

"Well, there's a list...of people I'd have wanted to marry, like Finn maybe, and Ryan Seacrest and...Chris Evans and that other Chris guy who played Thor...and maybe Angelina Jolie...but..." Here Rachel stops, hesitates, before she continues, "If it had to be someone other than those people on my list...I'm glad it's you..."

Silence meets this declaration and Santana doesn't know what to say, so she just lies there, letting this sink in, thinking it's very sweet of Rachel to say that, even though she knows Rachel is probably confused right now, so chooses to stay quiet.

But as she turns to look at Rachel, even in the half-darkness, Santana can make out Rachel's chocolate brown eyes, soft and gentle, as they look at Santana's own and Santana wants to look away, but there's something tender in the way Rachel is looking at her now. Santana dares not hope though.

* * *

><p>The morning after, Rachel wakes up on her back, with flashes of dream images of Santana and her, walking along the beach, laughing, having breakfast with the children, Suzie and Blue, taking a stroll in the park with them, cherry trees in blossom, sun shining softly on their backs, dinner in a restaurant, watching a concert. She opens her eyes and sees Santana sleeping on her side, back turned away from Rachel.<p>

Rachel debates whether she should get up now, but she's still feeling sleepy.

Santana meanwhile, seems to be slowly waking up, as she is slowly moving, slowing stretching, before she turns and lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, continuing to stretch and yawn.

"Morning," Rachel greets her now, smiling.

"Morning," Santana greets her back, returning her smile. "Sleep well?"

Rachel nods as she watches Santana throw back her side of the duvet, sit up and blink, trying to get her bearings. Rachel looks at her then and says, "So...what now?"

Santana turns to look at her, considering her question for a moment, before she says, "Well, you've bought yourself a few more days before you can go back to your rehearsals onstage, there's some magazine shoots and interviews you're supposed to do, but the interviews are fine, we got you out of that one, well, your agent and publicist got you out of those, there are some scenes you're supposed to shoot for the pilot of a television show, and a movie you're supposed to shoot, but I think that's fine, too...the movie and the show aren't supposed to shoot for a few more months or something. The movie's just starting pre-production now, so. The producers and directors understand and you really do need to get some rest. I wasn't sure about Broadway, though. You've always loved that, so I guess I'll leave the decision to you. The producer understands that, too. We've briefed them a bit about what's happened, so. You do have your scripts in your drawer, so you can do that. We're supposed to be working on an album, too, but I think what's more important now is just...you getting back on your feet, adjusting and getting better and..."

Here Santana stops, not knowing what to say, but Rachel completes the sentence for her, "And getting my memory back..."

"Yeah, there's that..." Santana says now. Then she says, "Oh, and your dad, Hiram, he's checked in at a hotel, he's supposed to come by, he's going home, back to Lima, today, so yeah..."

Rachel nods and sits up as Santana makes to sit up, and swing her legs off the side of the bed and gets up, stretching all the while. Rachel watches as Santana makes her way to the bathroom, closes it, and Rachel hears the toilet flush, the water running and hears the electric toothbrush.

She thinks it's going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>When they both go down to the kitchen for breakfast, they are surprised to find Blue, Sam and Hiram Berry, having a breakfast of pancakes and brewed coffee. When they see both Rachel and Santana, the three grin and smile at them.<p>

"Hey, Mom!" "Hey, Santana!" "Hi, honey! Hi, Santana."

Both women nod as Hiram says, "Come, uh, have,uh, breakfast,uh, with us."

Sam grins and says, "I got Krispy Kreme!"

"I made pancakes!" Blue proudly says.

Then Sam and Blue put their heads together and say, "Brewed coffee!"

"We've got some bacon, too!" Blue says proudly now, pointing to a plate of bacon in the middle of the island.

Sam nods enthusiastically. "Bacon makes everything like, fifty shades of better!"

Blue looks at him with happiness and says, "That's what I was thinking!"

Santana nods and puts an affectionate hand on Blue before she takes her place by the island of their kitchen, sitting next to Sam as Blue automatically pushes a plate of pancakes and brewed coffee in front of her, then doing the same as Rachel takes a seat beside her father. Blue dutifully pushes a plate of French toast and tea in front of her.

"It's vegan, I made sure," Blue automatically says, before Rachel can say anything.

Rachel nods and says, "Thanks, I guess."

Before Santana takes a bite of her pancakes, she looks at Sam then and says, "Ugh, don't you have a house to go home to?"

Sam grins. "But...but...you told me I will always have a home with you guys," he jokes.

Santana's glare makes Sam laugh so hard and Blue grin. Santana recovers enough to say, "Rachel said that, not me. If it were up to me, I'd have let you freeze to death outside."

Sam just snickers. "You love me."

"Bite me, trouty mouth," Santana says, before she pops the slices of pancake into her mouth.

They eat in silence for a little while before Sam, after swallowing a forkful of pancakes and washing it down with coffee, turns to Santana and says, "So, it's been a while and you guys spent the night together, and Suzie and Blue have briefed me on this...so any luck getting lucky...?"

Whilst Rachel almost chokes on her French toast and Sam is supposed to say something else, but Santana almost spits out her coffee but succeeds in hitting Sam on the back of the head, making Sam yelp and say, "Ow!"

"I'd stab you with my bread knife now if I could," Santana quietly says now as she spreads some maple syrup on her pancakes.

"What the hell was that for?" Sam says.

"You're a dick, you know that?" Santana says now, but she says it in a half-annoyed, half-affectionate way that makes Blue grin.

Blue puts an arm around Sam and says, "Never change, old man, never change."

Sam leans over to Santana and hands her a pack of CDs and DVDs.

"What are these?" Santana asks.

"Live concerts!" Sam says now. Sam leans over and says, "Blue told me this might help." As Santana stares at him, horrified and blushing, Sam continues, "I've got Bee Gees, Madonna, Phil Collins, Barry White...Barry Manilow...Coltrane..." Then Sam looks at Santana then and smiles, winking, "If all else fails, you can always try David Guetta's 'Titanium'...that song really builds, you know?"

Santana's blush deepens as she tries her best to scowl at Sam. Sam and Blue give each other a high five.

When they get back to eating, Blue says, innocently enough, "So, Uncle Sam, how's the sex life? Getting lucky and so forth?"

This time, it is Sam's turn to almost choke on his pancakes as Blue throws her head back and laughs.

"Sorry, sorry, just had to be done," Blue says now.

"You had that coming," Santana says now. "Is there a reason you're here anyway, Sam?"

Sam grins at her. "Thought you'd never ask."

Sam leans down and grabs his backpack from off the floor. He digs into his backpack and pulls out a laptop, which he quickly turns on, eyes concentrating on the screen as he fiddles with the keyboard and the screen. When he is satisfied with everything, he puts the laptop on the counter and shows it to Rachel. Santana and Blue, curious, turn to look at the screen.

In a few seconds, they see what it is.

On the screen is a video, on which are some words meant for Rachel: "Hey, Rachel! This is what happened to the world while you were sleeping!" Then, as the Simple Minds' song, "Don't You Forget About Me" plays in the background, a series of quick news clips and pictures of newspaper clips of what happened – tornadoes, hurricanes, polar vortex that happened on the east coast, teams that won, which presidents have been in the White House thus far (there is an African American one, a woman, a Latino, among others) and finally, what happened to Rachel. Rachel leans over as she sees news clips of her on the major news networks, plus some on E!, TMG, some online gossip rags and blogs, including photos of her during and after the accident, lying in the hospital, with tubes snaking in and around her face and arms. Then after that, there's a video of Sam and Mike in front of a shaky camera and Sam grins his wide grin and says, "Hey, Rachel!" Rachel squints and sees that it is Sam in a McKinley Cheerios uniform, with Mike in a tight, animal print knit sweater that he keeps pulling down on his too short skirt, which is exposing a couple of long, spindly legs covered in striped, knee-length socks that end in Chuck Taylor shoes.

Rachel, Santana, Blue and Hiram all stop and stare at Sam.

Sam grins at them all and says, "What? Thought this might be better than Rachel having to go through all the stuff she has on her own so she can remember all of us..."

"I'd stab you now with my fork, Sam, but I think they've outlawed whaling," Santana says threateningly now, twirling the fork on her near-empty plate.

"Just...roll with it, will ya?" Sam pleads, genuine concern and warmth on his face now.

"You are a child," Santana says, rolling her eyes, but Rachel puts a hand lightly on Santana's arm and says, "I'd like to see it."

"See?" Sam says triumphantly now, to Santana's subsequent eyeroll.

They turn back to the screen and watch, curious, as Sam and Mike speak in the video.

"So, basically, Rachel, you've been in an accident that kind of made you forget about Santana, Suzie, Blue, Kate, Beans, Cody and pretty much everyone else not connected to your high school life," Sam begins in the video, "And so we're here to kind of well, act out how life's been like since you slipped into a coma and woke up...I will be playing Santana..." Here, the camera shakes and Sam glares at the cameraman, and they can hear the cameraman say, in a girlish voice, "Sorry" and Sam continues, "And Mike here..." the camera swivels to show Mike again, pulling at something on the back of his skirt, and muttering, "I've got a wedgie...how girls can survive wearing a bra and thongs is beyond me..." but then Mike notices the camera and he grins sheepishly and waves as the camera shakes again, they can hear girlish laughter behind the camera again, and Sam's glare. "Hey, cut it out!" Sam says now. They hear someone say, "Sorry, sorry, go ahead" behind the camera again.

"So, like, well, you and Santana were enemies in high school and all that, but like, after high school, you've magically become friends and then kind of hooked up and fell in love and well," Sam continues, "I don't know the exact details of how you fell in love but I do know you guys had that one date in Lima that one time during Christmas..." and then a shower of confetti and styrofoam are directed at Sam's face as he and Mike try to re-enact that date Santana and Rachel had those many years ago. "And then...you guys did the whole long distance thing for a while, dividing your time between California and New York," Sam continues and Mike appears, holding a surfboard and wearing a souvenir Statue of Liberty cap on his head, "But then, after three years of dating and with Santana kind of being the emotionally constipated person that she was," Sam continues in the video, making Santana blush as Rachel turns to look at her, "You, Rachel go to London and become a big hit on the West End" and the Union Jack flag appears behind them, "But then something happens, and you guys finally move to New York...and then you, Rachel, teach in Brooklyn, at Taft High, where, predictably, of course, you just had to start your own Glee Club, the Beatz, against all odds..." and here, as Sam speaks, it is interspersed with photos of Taft High, her students Z, Kenyatta and the others, video clips of them practicing, news clippings and online articles and photos of them winning and appearing on talk shows, meeting the president, "And then after five years, Santana finally pops the question and you guys get married, _twice_," and here, there are photos of a much younger Santana and Rachel in front of the New York City Hall the day they got secretly married, and then photos and videos of them getting married in Lima, with Santana's Tia Evita and a Jewish minister officiating, with a small group comprising of family members and friends in attendance, there are shaky video clips of them during the ceremony itself, exchanging vows, exchanging rings, both of them stepping on glass, the reception, the toasts, a much younger Suzie making a speech, the two of them dancing, a quiet moment shared between the two of them away from the crowd, Quinn leading the crowd in a flash mob, with Rachel's Taft kids on a video screen dancing right along with them, "And then you got a part on Broadway and you won awards," Sam continues, to video clips of Rachel accepting a Tony, "Then you had Blue...and _that_ was an adventure..."

Blue looks at Sam now and hits him on the shoulder. Sam just grins at her. "Aw, look at you, so tiny!"

On the screen, there are clips of Blue as a baby, then as a toddler, in diaper and a pacifier, running around the living room, with Rachel running after her, Blue being fed and throwing food at Rachel's face, Blue throwing toothbrushes on the sink, Blue throwing clothes in the water in the bathtub, Blue being given a bath in a tubful of bubbles, with a visibly tired Rachel saying, "No, no, Blue," but then Blue has made a splash, spraying Rachel with water, then Blue playing in the toilet water, Blue playing with Rachel and Santana's mobile phones, laptops, Blue messing up Santana's documents, Blue with their dog, Kurt, and then an older Blue, with a hearing aid, going to school, playing in the sandbox, pushing a kid once, then a pre-pubescent Blue playing the violin and the piano, listening to music, then Blue conducting music, interspersed with clips of a proud Rachel and Santana in the crowd. Then Sam appears on the screen again and says, "Heck, you guys got featured twice in a documentary!" And then the screen shows video clips of the documentary, the first about Rachel and the Beatz, the second about Rachel, Blue and the rest of the family. Then Sam appears again and says, "You even had an album out and even won awards!" And there is a familiar song that plays, "Loser Like Me", there are video clips again, of Rachel being nominated and her winning a Grammy together with Santana. Then finally, Sam appears again, this time with Mike and he says, "I know it's hard and it's got to be a bitch that you can't remember anything, but don't let anything get you down. You've had an awesome life. And we're all here for you. Hang in there, everything's going to be alright."

As the last strains of "Don't You Forget About Me" fade from the video, Rachel, eyes threatening to spill with tears, turns to Sam and says, "You guys did this for me?"

Sam grins and says, "Well, it was Blue's and my idea...so...thought we'd just do a little something something, put something together for you..."

Rachel smiles at him now. "That's so sweet of you guys...thank you..."

Rachel moves to hug Sam and Sam says, "Whoa, easy, we guys might be all friends, but Santana's still territorial and she'll have my balls for breakfast if..." But Rachel doesn't let him finish as she launches herself on him and hugs him.

"Thank you," Rachel says now, before she turns to Blue and hugs her, too.

Blue just smiles as awkwardly as Sam and mumbles a "Thank you".

* * *

><p>After breakfast, in which Santana and the others notice that Rachel is bit more cheerful than in the past few days since she's woken up, Blue, then Sam, then Hiram get up and announce that they need to get going – Blue and Sam to work, Hiram to catch a flight back to Lima. Hiram lets the others go, before he takes Rachel aside and says, "Honey, uh, I'm really glad you're okay. Leroy, uh, wanted to come up but he's been feeling, uh, a bit under the, uh, weather, so I made him stay behind. I just had come and uh, see for myself, uh, make sure you were okay. I'm so glad you're okay, though. You'll let me know if you need anything, yes?" When Rachel nods, he nods back, gives her a hug and says, "Good girl. Santana's alright. Took a while to warm up to her, but she's been there for you since forever and she really cares for you. Can't think of anyone else better suited for the job of spending the rest of their lives taking care of you." And here, Hiram smiles warmly, affection apparent on his face for Rachel and by extension, Santana. "And, hey, whatever's happened between you and your dad, it's all water under the bridge now and he's really just dying to see you and..."<p>

"What happened between dad and me?" Rachel interrupts, all curious now.

Hiram must have realized his blunder, because he starts to redden and he starts to speak in a more flustered way, "Uh, nothing, nothing..."

"What happened?" Rachel asks again, more evenly this time.

"Well, uh, first there was, uh, you and uh, Shelby..."

"What about Shelby and me?" Rachel asks now, vaguely registering that Shelby must be her birth mom.

"Well, you guys kind of ended up being friends and uh, not that that was bad or anything," Hiram says now, positively squirming and wanting, more than anything else, to disappear,or at least to make a dash for the door, "But then there was that...uh...well...lately you haven't been visiting us...and it upset...uh, Leroy..."

And here Rachel flushes, feeling guilty about that, even though she has no memory of it.

"And uh, well, before you had your accident...you...uh..." And here Hiram hesitates, unsure about whether he should go on or not.

"What?" Rachel asks now.

"Well, uh, you wanted to know...uh..."Hiram pauses, before he continues, "You...uh...wanted a paternity test..."

"What?"

Hiram sighs now. "You...uh...wanted to know which one of us is your real father..."

Rachel thinks about this as she sits on the couch, unsure about what to do. Santana had gone to the office – apparently she'd had an early retirement but is still working as a legal consultant for a few firms, leaving Rachel all alone in the house.

Before Rachel could grill her father further, everyone else had called Hiram to the door, Santana reminding him he might miss his flight, and Hiram had gone, relieved, as if let free from an interrogation that he did not want to be part of and Rachel had been left in the kitchen wondering why the old her had wanted this. Apparently it had been a secret because judging from how Hiram had lowered his voice and half-whispered things, it had been somehow some sort of secret, and thus perhaps even Santana hadn't known of this. Hiram seemed uncomfortable about the idea though, and it seemed, from just how evasive he was, that he hadn't wanted the paternity test to go on, and she wouldn't have wanted that too, well, high school Rachel wouldn't have wanted that, too, but she is curious now as to why older Rachel, the Rachel before the accident, would want that.

As she mulls this over, she realizes maybe there is someone else who might actually help her.

* * *

><p>Kurt is not as accommodating as she'd hoped when she'd mentioned asking for his assistance about something. In fact, he sounded downright irritated and had slammed the phone down right after announcing that he had just got in from a flight and had pulled an all-nighter for his work and needed his beauty rest before he had to prepare for the upcoming Spring collection that he was working on and then there was a click and a dial tone. She feels a bit saddened by this, because she was hoping he could help her run lines with him.<p>

She wondered if Kurt had always been this annoying.

Because she'd found herself all alone in the house, she ended up getting her sketchpad, pencils and charcoal out and just started sketching on the white space of paper. She'd been feeling good and then there was this annoying thing tugging at the edge of her mind and she thought maybe distracting herself with a bit of sketching would help her.

At first she starts with simple ones – a gold star, simple enough to sketch on a pad, so that encourages her to continue on to the next one, a heart, enclosed by a hand on each side, the thumb resting on the top part of the heart, the rest of the fingers holding the tip of the heart, so that the fingers formed an outer heart on the actual heart itself. The heart isn't much, she reckons, but it's not a bad rendition and she starts to shade it before she goes on to the next sketch, which is that of a lilly, then an arm, then, she just starts on a new page, starts to draw curves and lines and shades and she wonders what she is drawing, but then when she finishes a few pages of just curves and lines she realizes that it is someone's naked back, half-submerged in shadow, the gentle curve of waist and hips in prominence, then in another, she blushes to realize it is the outline of a woman's chest, and in another it is the detail of someone's naked shoulder. She screws up her eyes, confused, before she puts the sketchpad down on the coffee table, draws her knees towards herself and just sits there, doing nothing, wondering what she's supposed to do next.

* * *

><p>The days, then weeks pass, during which Santana patiently helps Rachel ease back into her old life. She takes her for a walk around their neighborhood, shows her the park, the grocery store, Luigi's, Taft High, MILF, the Foundation that Rachel had established right after she'd left Taft ("I named my own Foundation, MILF?!" Rachel had asked her incredulously to Santana's amused, devilish grin), Broadway, Manhattan and a few other places Rachel is given to understand is important in her life. Santana drives her, takes her to the subway, walks around with her, never complaining, just patiently answering Rachel's questions, never insisting that Rachel think or feel like what she used to do before, but just letting her make her own decisions. The challenge for Rachel though is the fact that she is still confused, and still didn't know what to make of this new life.<p>

Adding to her confusion and frustration is the fact that she cannot remember details that pertain to her life, though she seems to still remember things relevant to her chosen profession and career – music, singing, sheet music, composing, playing the piano, Broadway trivia, vocalization and so on. Her amnesia also has not impeded her from catching up with the technology that's around her. Since, much to her disappointment, there is a lack of hovercrafts, hoverboards, and other futuristic gadgets sci-fi films had featured, she hadn't had much difficulty catching up with that, taking to new gadgets, software and social networking sites like fish to water, proudly telling Santana it's because "I'm a millenial baby, so of course this would all be easy for me!" much to Santana's mild irritation. Rachel reads up on the news, skims articles and books on things that she's missed, although Sam does his best to filter through them and tell her which ones are important and which ones are not.

Santana takes Rachel to the doctor for a regular medical check-up and the doctor says everything is fine, that she's recovering well and that all they need to do is wait and have Rachel get to know her life once more.

Santana meanwhile goes back to work, goes to the office whenever she can, even as they slowly establish a routine for Rachel that doesn't freak her out or make her go back to Kurt or to Lima in panic.

* * *

><p>Santana had just finished meeting with clients when Johnson, an old colleague and friend of hers from her old law firm, comes in and greets her.<p>

"Hey, you," Johnson says now, grinning.

Santana looks up, grinning back, as she gathers a sheaf of documents, taps them on the table and slides them all inside her briefcase. "Hey, what's up?" she asks absently, as she grabs her mobile phone and thumbs through her messages.

"Nothing much," Johnson says, coming in and leaning on the table. "You want to go out for drinks or something?"

Santana stops now, spotting a message from her wife. "Er, yeah, sure, but I'm kind of busy right now. Rain check?"

"Sure, sure," Johnson says. He watches her for a few seconds more before he says, "Have you thought more about it?"

"About what?" Santana asks, looking up.

"That post the Commission on Human Rights is offering you," Johnson says in exasperation.

"Oh," Santana says. "No, not really."

Johnson just stares at her in disbelief. "Lopez, that post isn't gonna be vacant forever," Johnson points out. "One day, the Commission will just get tired of you dragging your feet and will send somebody else to live in a mudhut in the desert with, like, the elephants and giraffes and like, the medicine man and the warrior tribes and stuff...where luxuries like toilet paper and diet coke will be as a distant dream..."

Santana rolls her eyes. "If it's escaped your notice, Johnson, I do have my hands full at the moment."

At this, Johnson's face softens. "Oh, right. Yeah. I forgot about that. How is the wife?"

Santana smiles and says, "She's good. She's recovering..." She then looks apologetically at Johnson, "I'd really love to chat and catch up with you Johnson, but I've really got to go."

"Oh, hey, yeah, no worries, raincheck, right?" Johnson says now, grinning, as Santana nods, but not before Johnson asks, "Hey, how're your kids by the way?"

"They're fine," Santana says, gathering her things as she does so.

"Has Blue decided on going that thing she'd wanted to do?"

Santana shrugs. "Dunno."

"Okay, see you around then?"

Santana nods again and leaves the office hurriedly, dialing her phone and putting it on her ear anxiously, listening to the ring tone.

In a few seconds, Rachel's voice comes in from the other end. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Santana asks now, even more anxiously. She stops, listens and nods absently, before she says, "Okay, how'd you even...never mind. Don't go anywhere. I'll come pick you up. Love you..."

Santana hurriedly ends the call even before she can hear Rachel's answer as she rushes to the elevator.

It is only when the elevator doors close that she realizes she's just said "I love you" to Rachel.

* * *

><p>Rachel stands by a building, in the cold, waiting for Santana to pick her up.<p>

She'd grown bored at home, not knowing what to do, so she'd grabbed her mobile phone, her purse and went out.

Brooklyn is overwhelming though. The subway even more so. The crowds pressing in all around her, the jostling, people bumping against her, tut-tutting her when she'd stopped in the middle of a crowd, staring at a poster to see where she is supposed to go, overwhelmed her. She remembers New York of course, she remembers her first few weeks at NYADA, but that was a long time ago, and this is Brooklyn. But eventually, she finds herself where she needs to be: Broadway. The buildings here are overwhelming – the flashing lights, the noise, the shouts, the crowds, the billboards, the LED lights, everything, seemed exciting. After a few tries at asking surly, unhappy New Yorkers where she could find the specific building where she is supposed to be rehearsing, and after having received a few scowls, glares, and some outright ignoring her or telling her curtly, "Leave me alone" she'd finally found herself in front of the theater.

She'd arrived right in the middle of rehearsal and everyone had greeted her with much excitement, though she barely remembers everyone from before. She'd been eighteen when she last remembers coming to New York, and a lot of things have happened since then. The initial disappointment at her life seems to be wearing off now, starting with when she realized there were paparazzi taking an interest in her life. She just greets everyone, there are only a few people there anyway and then she announces the need to go home and she steps back out into the hallway and makes for the elevator, but then a woman she remembers as Helen Cooper, comes up to her.

"Hey," Helen Cooper says, making to touch Rachel's elbow.

Rachel turns and smiles politely at the other woman. "Hi," she greets back, before turning to the elevator, waiting for it to come up and open.

There is a silence in which Rachel is hoping that Helen Cooper would go away, but she just stands there, not saying anything. Rachel tries to ignore the woman though, but then Helen Cooper speaks up.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she asks.

Rachel turns then and says, "No, I'm sorry."

Helen Cooper's face drops. "Oh. We met, uh, a few years ago. Kurt introduced us. We kind of met again, for this production and you said we should go out sometime and..."

Rachel looks at her then and disinterestedly says, "Yes. About that. I don't remember, so sorry."

Helen Cooper looks disappointed. "Oh, I was hoping you could give me a few pointers on acting on stage. You said you could help me with that. I thought we...kind of hit it off and stuff...you said something about meeting at the Russian Tea Room or..."

Rachel shakes her head. "I'm so sorry. Can't really remember it. But maybe next time or something?"

Helen Cooper smiles then, relieved and says, "Oh, yeah, sure, okay." She stops then and says, "You still have my number, right? I mean, you asked for it and..."

As Helen Cooper nods and moves away, Rachel already know she's not calling this woman. The woman has barely turned and already Rachel has forgotten about her.

When she arrives on the lobby and steps out into the cold, she waits for bit before Santana comes. While waiting for her, she spots a hair salon just two shops down, so she goes in and has a haircut.

Just as she finishes her haircut, Santana arrives in her car, leans over, opens the door and smiles up at Rachel. "Hey," she tells Rachel.

"Hey," Rachel replies, getting into the car.

Santana is staring at her, or more importantly, at her hair, and Rachel asks, "What?"

"You cut your hair," Santana says.

Rachel says, "Uh, yeah."

"You have bangs," Santana says. "And your hair's...shorter...in the back..."

Rachel is silent. "You don't like my hair."

"No, no," Santana says quickly. "I love your bangs."

"No, you don't...they're hideous aren't they? Oh, god, I shouldn't have cut my hair...it's awful...!"

"Yeah, I do, alright," Santana says now, when she sees that Rachel is looking anxious and panic-stricken and on the verge of an anxiety attack, so she says, "I was just surprised, is all...I..." she hesitates then she smiles, encouragingly and says, "The bangs are perfect..." As Rachel shakes her head to disagree, Santana says, "The haircut's perfect, alright? You're perfect. Wouldn't change anything about you..."

This seems to have the desired effect on Rachel because she smiles at what Santana has said and says, "Really?"

Santana nods and smiles wider.

"Where to now?" Santana asks.

Rachel shrugs. "I don't know. Surprise me."

* * *

><p>Moments later, during which Rachel asks, "Where are we going?" she had turned and realized that Santana's ears had turned red.<p>

"Um, I was hoping we could...I don't know...go out for dinner or something," Santana says, ending her words in a mumble.

Rachel takes this in, before she smiles and says, "Santana Lopez, are you taking me out on a date?"

Santana blushes more deeply before she clears her throat and says, "No, I'm not."

Rachel laughs a little. "Yeah? So why are you blushing?"

Santana doesn't answer for a few moments, before she says, "Well, it is date night tonight."

Rachel takes this in. "Oh."

Rachel feels mildly disappointed about this. One of the routines they've made is preparing dinner. No matter how busy Santana gets, she almost always gets home before dinner and they both prepare dinner together.

At first Santana had thought it was not necessary, but Rachel had insisted, so they started preparing dinner together. As the days go by, Rachel starts to look forward to these dinners. They'd fallen into this routine where as Santana prepares ingredients for tacos or burritos or pasta, Rachel would do something else, like slicing and dicing and mixing vegetables or sauteeing them while Santana has the chicken breaded and fried or the potatoes boiled and mashed or the pasta noodles boiled. Rachel likes the silence that preparing dinner entails and she is glad for it. The kitchen is neither insufferably small or overwhelming massive, and there is space to move and swing a cat, if they are so inclined, but she likes this quiet companionship, this quite comfortableness with Santana, and she thinks she imagines it when she notices that Santana seems to be brushing against her, touching an elbow, an arm, a shoulder or her back, as she sets the plates, dishes, glasses, silverware, table napkins and she mutters "Excuse me" or "Sorry" when she bumps against Rachel. Rachel had just ignored it at first, knowing Santana had been used to the old Rachel, but lately, whenever Santana touches her, she wishes the touch to linger, for Santana to turn and kiss her, but whenever she catches Santana's face, she realizes that Santana's face bears no expression whenever she touches Rachel and it disappoints her.

Rachel comes back to the present when Santana speaks again.

"I mean, you were the one who said we should just ease you back into your routines," Santana explains now. "And today's date night, so."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Santana surprises Rachel when she takes Rachel, not to any of the fancy restaurants over at Manhattan but in a small restaurant near Brooklyn called "Luigi's". The owner, Luigi, a man significantly older than either Santana or Rachel with a balding pate and a bulging paunch beneath his flour-encrusted apron, greets them from the counter, waving a hand full of flour and gesturing that they take any seat in the house. The restaurant is simple, cozy, with walls covered in framed black and white posters of old movies - "Casablanca", "The Maltese Falcon", "La Dolce Vita", "Roman Holiday", "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and "Citizen Kane", the wooden tables surrounded by leather upholstered chairs covered with checkered red and white table cloth. The place is clean, tiles polished and gleaming, their heels clicking against the floor and quiet, the only sound coming from the soft, jazzy, 1930s music wafting from a stereo by the counter. The only windows available are the ones in front, covered with thick curtains and some plants. The place is warm and smelled of pizza and pasta, brewed coffee and a host of other food smells that make Rachel feel like this place is familiar, like she's been here before. It's the same feeling she's been having since she's settled back into their Brooklyn house. The whole house doesn't help her remember everything, but a sound, a smell, the smell of sheets, the smell of Santana, her nearness, the sound of laughter, even the familiar way they all joke around with Sam – these all seem to remind her of a past life, in almost Proustian sort of way.<p>

Santana lets Rachel sit first and Luigi's son, who looks exactly like him,but younger, so Rachel guessed he is his son and hands them a couple of menus.

As Santana hands their menus back to the young man, Rachel says, "So...how long has Brittany been...gone...?"

Santana seems to have been surprised by this question and there's a look on her face, a look that's different from the ones Rachel had seen before, but then Santana says, "How was your day? How'd you end up over on Broadway?"

Rachel realizes then that it is not something Santana wants to talk about.

They chat idly about things while waiting for their order, and there is silence for a while, broken when a couple of customers come in, one of them doing a double take when they catch sight of Rachel and Santana. The person keeps looking at Rachel then, and Rachel tries not to be irritated, until the person, a lady in her thirties comes to them and says, "Excuse me, but you look exactly this Broadway star I love who's had a recent accident..."

It takes Rachel a moment to realize it's a fan, and she starts to shake her head "no" and says, "No, no, I just really look a lot like her."

The fan smiles triumphantly, "I thought so...You look younger...Rachel Berry looks a bit long in the tooth..."

Rachel smiles then. "Thank you."

The rest of the dinner is better after that and Santana actually pays for Rachel's fan's dinner.

* * *

><p>When they finish dinner, it's dark outside, and so they decide to go home. When they get home, they're both too tired to do anything else, so they both decide to just go to bed. When they get to the bedroom, and Rachel heads to the drawers, Santana heads to the bathroom, but not before catching Rachel's questioning look on her face as she turns towards her, holding something between index finger and thumb.<p>

"What's this?" Rachel says now, holding up panties for Santana to see.

Santana stops and looks up.

"Are these...crotchless panties?" Rachel asks now curiously. Then with the other hand, she holds up a bra and says, "And is this a stripper bra?"

Santana says, "Um..."

"Are these yours?" Rachel says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Santana clears her throat. "Um, no. They're yours, actually."

An awkward silence ensues.

Rachel holds up an ultra-thin, see-through, lacy, red lingerie and says, "I assume this is mine, too..."

Santana says, "Err...that's mine..."

Another awkward ensues.

Rachel then makes a strangled noise and she holds up a couple of dildos and a vibrator and she says, "Are these what I think they are?"

Santana nods. "Yeah. Yeah, they are. One's glow-in-the-dark. Check it out," she says, as she hits the light switch and one of the things in Rachel's hand glows a bright green in the dark. Santana throws the light switch on and she says, grinning, "Pretty cool, huh?"

Rachel blushes.

Santana gives her a wicked grin. "The pink one's yours. The green one's mine."

Rachel drops the dildos quickly into the drawer to Santana's amused smile.

Rachel holds up a piece of leather, holding it with her thumb and index finger and she looks at Santana, and asks, "What are these?"

Santana smiles and says, airily, "Oh, that's a strap-on..."

"And that would be..."

Santana shrugs and says, "As the name suggests, you strap it on, like a holster, except it's on your crotch."

Rachel quickly drops the article back into the drawer as Santana tries not to laugh.

"Wow," Rachel says now, closing the drawer. "I didn't...I didn't know that lesbians..."

"Accessorize?" Santana suggests helpfully. When Rachel looks at her, Santana smiles and says, "Because they do...they really do..." As Rachel blushes, Santana says with a grin, "And it's pretty awesome..."

Rachel doesn't know what to say to that so she randomly opens another drawer and brings out a scented candle, looking at it in wonder and Santana says, "Ah, I see you've found your drawer dedicated to scented candles."

Rachel is again, speechless, and she says, "So, bed?"

"Yeah, let me just...get ready for bed..." Santana says.

As they settle on the bed, Santana on the left, Rachel on the right, Rachel lying on her side, looking at Santana, Santana lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, there is awkward silence again, before Rachel says, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For asking about...Brittany," Rachel says now. "I now realize that may have come off as insensitive...but...I just...wanted to know...I'm sorry...I don't remember, so..."

Santana quickly says, "It's fine..." with a quick wave of her hand and they fall into silence again.

Santana is so quiet Rachel thinks she might have fallen asleep, so she turns on her back, stares at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

But then Santana speaks up.

"It still feels unreal, you know?" Santana begins. "Brittany's death. I loved her, you know? She was the first one I'd ever really cared for. There were periods before, especially the first two, three years when I hear laughter or hear a door and I think I'm still going to see her...one minute she was there and the next minute she was just...gone...and it hits you..like a wave...you get this intense feeling of chaos, like nothing's right, nothing's ever going to be perfect...but then that passes and...sometimes I still get it...but yeah..."

Santana turns to Rachel then. "I imagine that's how you felt about Finn, too."

Rachel nods, not knowing what to say about that, because she can't remember Finn, but she does feel the loss.

"But it kind of..faded..with time...the wound heals, the scar remains," Santana says. She looks at Rachel then. "You kind of helped with that..."

Rachel smiles then, and tentatively puts a hand on Santana's face. Santana smiles, putting her hand over Rachel's own.

As they lie there, looking at each other, there is an understanding that seems to pass between them – that though Rachel is still struggling to regain her memory, they at least, will always have each other.

After a beat, Rachel says, "Hey, you haven't answered my question. Do we have sex?"

Santana is taken aback by the question but she answers, "Yes. Frequently and spontaneously."

Rachel doesn't know what to say to that at first, but then she says, "Of course we did. I imagine lots of times...if we've been together three decades...I imagine I satisfy you and given your track record and the fact that we've been together a long time, you satisfy me, too."

Santana finds herself blushing harder and wanting to laugh as well, as she says, "Oh, my god, stop it."

Rachel doesn't think there's anything wrong with it though as she says, "What? I'm curious." She leans a bit forward and asks, so earnestly as to be comical, "Am I a top or a bottom?" When Santana hesitates, Rachel says, "I'm a top, aren't I?"

Santana lets out a snort. "You're a bottom."

"Although I honestly don't get all this thing about tops and bottoms anyway," Rachel says then, seemingly unperturbed by the revelation.

"Well, recently, you've been on top because...well...I sometimes have back pains," Santana offers now.

Rachel looks at her and teasingly says, "Lightweight."

"I have a bad back, okay?" Santana says defensively now. "It's probably all those Cheerios and Louisville cheerleading shit."

"Okay, okay," Rachel says. "The presence of those dildos and strap-ons clearly suggest that we have an interesting sex life but I'm particularly interested in something else..."

Santana looks at her. "Oh god, what now?"

Rachel settles herself deeply now and asks, "Do we role play?"

"What?"

"Do we role play?" Rachel asks again, more patiently this time. "I kind of always wanted to do that. I mean, what's my favorite character?"

Santana just stares at her incredulously, before she says, "There's really no other way to answer that but with a...yes, we do role plays."

Rachel seems pleased by that, so encouraged by her reaction, Santana says, "You like a variety of role playing games. You've wanted us to play like...the ship captain and the first mate, the vampire and her lover and stuff like that, but...the one thing you really like to do is...just pretending to be some random stranger in a restaurant meeting up with another random stranger...but we haven't done that in a while..."

Rachel doesn't let her finish as Rachel asks, "Am I good in bed?"

When Santana just stares at her, she asks, "Am I a good kisser?"

Santana just stares at her, mouth open, before she recovers and says, "I don't know whether to be relieved you're okay, or mortified that there's this weird part of you the accident has unleashed and it's making me feel all sorts of embarrassed feelings..."

Rachel only smiles.

"I don't understand," Santana says, confused. "Shouldn't you be freaked out more?"

"Wait," Rachel says now, "What's my favorite sexual position? What's yours? You're cute when you look...uncomfortable..actually you look hot...Like really hot...you know, for an old woman..."

Santana just stares at her, not knowing what to say and for a few heartbeats she considers what Rachel has just said before she laughs.

"That kind of just made you a little hotter."

Santana nods, before she shakes her head, as if she isn't sure what she just heard, and she asks, "Oh my god, did you just hit on me?"

Rachel grins. "Is it working?"

Santana says,"It's kind of making me uncomfortable."

"This is no time to be shy. Plus I'm supposed to be married to you, for a long time. So you must have some reason."

There is a silence that settles between them then, before Santana says, "Um, actually, we haven't actually been...intimate in a while..."

Rachel shifts them, stares at Santana in the half-darkness. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Why is that?"

"Well..." Santana hesitates, not knowing how to continue, but when Rachel just stares at her, curious, Santana continues, "Menopause."

"Oh."

"Yeah, between the...night sweats, migraines, irregular periods, muscle pain, frequent urination, hot flashes, decreased libido and your very detailed descriptions of vaginal dryness, we weren't really having that much sex. Not really," Santana says.

"Oh," Rachel says. "Was it that bad?"

"Well, you had some hormone replacement therapy for a while, til you had it stopped, you didn't like it," Santana says. "You adjusted well enough anyway. Said you thrived in heat."

"Oh," Rachel says again. "How about you?"

Santana shrugs. "Got through it okay. Had a hysterectomy."

Silence settles between them then, neither one knowing what to say, before Rachel says, "I saw my diary."

Santana is quiet, and for a while, Rachel thinks she's fallen asleep, but then Santana says, "So have you read it?

Rachel says, "No. Not yet."

"Why not? Why aren't you reading it?"

"I don't know. I think I'm afraid of it."

Santana just looks at her. "Why?

Rachel doesn't say anything at first, before she says, "I don't know..."

They are silent for a while, during which Rachel feels it, that fear that she felt when she had seen the diary.

This is not just a piece of Rachel, recovered; it's one of the first and last honest glimpses Rachel will ever get of who the other Rachel Berry was. It's an object, a magical object that could disappear in a moment. She wants to leave it undiscovered for a while. It could tell her something she doesn't want to know.

After a silence, Rachel says, "Santana..."

"What?"

"What if...what if I don't...remember?" Rachel asks.

Santana looks at her then. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. Don't you want to remember?"

"I do, Santana, I do," Rachel says quickly now.

"Then...why...?"

"I don't know," Rachel answers lamely now.

Santana is silent. Then she says, "We'll figure this out, okay? We're going to figure this out and we're going to get your memory back and everything's going to be okay, okay?"

"Okay."

Rachel had woken up the next day feeling much better than she ever had in weeks.

She'd woken up from dreams – more intimate dreams, flashes of Santana with her, Santana above her, kissing her, Santana's fingers on her skin, Santana holding her, and other images of them close together. It makes her smile thinking of them.

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up snuggled closer to Santana who is sleeping on her side, face towards Rachel, left arm possessively on Rachel's waist, Rachel's head on Santana's right arm, so that Santana is pretty much holding her, arms loosely embracing Rachel. Rachel realizes she's actually holding Santana back, her arm on Santana's waist, her other arm caught in the middle, between Santana's body and hers. She shifts so she can get her arm to be more comfortable. At first her hand is just in the air, and she is unsure where she will put it, but then, as she slowly puts her hand down, she finds herself gently, silently touching Santana's face. She holds her breath, as she lightly traces Santana's jaw, chin, traces eyebrows and nose and finally, the lips, but when Santana lets out a small sound, she quickly and silently withdraws her hand, even as she continues staring at Santana. Santana is beautiful, she thinks. She thought younger, teenaged Santana would be the height of her beauty and prowess, but Rachel is surprised to realize that Santana has actually grown more beautiful, if that were entirely possible at all. Santana has more wrinkles, there are lines on her face and dark circles beneath her eyes and small blemishes and a scar, there are streaks of gray on her otherwise lustrous dark hair, but Rachel finds these actually give Santana more character, makes her more interesting, intriguing even – the years were kind to Santana, but she can see a hint of exhaustion, a hint of the years having gone by, but Rachel realizes it's Santana's spirit, it's as fiery as ever, Santana still as cantankerous and she has this sudden urge to lean in and brush her lips against Santana's own.<p>

But then Santana moves and she surprises Rachel by mumbling a sentence.

"Stop it."

Rachel stops and says, "What?"

Santana shifts, pulls Rachel closer, nuzzling against Rachel. "That creepy stalker thing you like to do."

"What creepy stalker thing I do?"

Santana opens one eye sleepily and says, "That thing where you stare at me while I sleep. It's creepy. Exactly like a stalker."

Rachel only laughs a little and says, "I wasn't staring..."

Santana snorts a little. "Rach, you've been doing that since we got together...I'd rather we have morning sex than anything...you love those..."

Santana seems to have realized that this Rachel is different from the Rachel that she's known, because her eyes comically open wider and she releases Rachel from her embrace, "Oh. Sorry. Sorry...I didn't...I should probably just sleep on the couch again..."

Rachel, dejected that she's lost the warmth that Santana's embrace and tries not to look disappointed as she shakes her head and says, "No, no, it was fine...I mean...you couldn't help yourself, right?"

When Santana just stares at her, unsure about how to respond to that, Rachel says, "I mean, if it's a habit you've had living with me for thirty years, then it's hard to break, is it? The hugging...not the morning sex..."

"Well, that's true," Santana says, thoughtfully.

"Frankly, I think it would be good for us, it might just help me, I mean, it's part of our routine and habits and stuff," Rachel says. "The hugging and stuff...not the morning sex..."

"Yeah, but I don't like you feeling like I'm taking advantage of you or anything..." Santana says uncertainly.

"Santana," Rachel says now, "If you've been with me this long, you know how I get, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, hard not to," Santana says with that familiar smirk that makes Rachel smile.

"So, you know that if you're doing anything wrong, like taking advantage of me, you know I'm going to give you shit for that, right?"

Santana makes a face but she nods.

"What?" Rachel asks, curious.

"You don't use those words," Santana explains. When Rachel just stares at her, still puzzled, Santana says, "You know, shit, fuck, whatever..."

"Oh," Rachel says now. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

So Rachel had been feeling good.

But then, after breakfast, as they both troop to the grocery store to buy some food, a balding man with sharp, gray eyes, stops Rachel as she picks up a bag of apples to drop on their cart.

"Are you Rachel Berry?"the man says.

Rachel looks at the man, and says, "Yes, why?"

"Do you know Helen Cooper?"

Rachel remembers the name, so she nods and says, "Yes, but not very well..."

The man looks at Rachel then. "That's not how Helen puts it..."

Rachel looks at him then. "I'm sorry?"

"To hear Helen talk, you'd think you guys were best friends or something...or more..." the man continues.

"I beg your pardon?" Rachel asks then, unsure of what she is hearing. "I don't think I like what you're insinuating, mister."

The man cuts her off. "Are you having an affair with my wife?"

Rachel stares at the man, uncomprehending, not knowing what to say to that, but then just before she is about to say she doesn't know what to say, she realizes someone is standing behind her, and she turns around and sure enough, Santana is standing there, with a look on her face that Rachel can only describe as indescribable.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites - esp. kutee, pictureofsuccess and others. Kind reviews for this chapter is encouraged and much appreciated.**_

_**Thanks for the beta's (DragonsWillFly) assistance as well. Cheers!**_


	5. Chapter 5

It is impossible to explain or even describe the expression on Santana's face, but it is unmistakable, Rachel thinks. It's the same look Santana has had whenever someone has made the mistake of making her angry: a storm brewing in her dark eyes, as if she might explode any minute. But at the same time, Rachel thinks there's something more there – a look of deep hurt mingled with betrayal and Rachel wonders why Santana would have this look.

Before the man can say anything else, Rachel starts to shake her head at Santana and says, ever so desperately, "It's not what you think..."

"You've been sleeping with my wife," the man says, his voice rising steadily as he takes a menacing step forward.

Rachel steps back, feeling instinctively like there's something about the man's red, bloodshot eyes, wild, unkempt, greasy hair, the messy coat and jeans, the frayed, fingerless knitted gloves, that she should be careful, and even wary of. But she manages to speak. "Mister, I don't know what you're talking about...you're making me uncomfortable...please don't come any closer...or I will call the police..."

Even as she speaks, she feels a hand on her elbow and she jumps with a start before she realizes that it is Santana's hand.

"Rachel, do you know this guy?" Santana asks quietly.

As Rachel shakes her head, Santana gently and quietly pulls her back, placing herself safely between Rachel and the man, even as she herself steps back. She says, calmly and firmly, "You heard my wife, please stay back...or I will be forced to use..." and here Santana stops, not knowing what else to say, before she says, "Force...I know...jujitsu...haikwondo..."

Rachel makes a face and whispers, "What are you talking about?"

Santana ignores her.

"You've been sleeping with my wife!" the man says again, this time his voice louder, as he takes another step forward. He then shouts it again, his voice nearing hysterical proportions. "You been porking my wife, boning her, boinking her, nailing her..." he continues, hands turning into fists, and hitting himself repeatedly with them.

Then he steps forward again, fists in front of him and he makes to lunge for Rachel then, but Santana is quicker and she actually manages to block his fist and punch him back. Rachel stares at Santana, surprised, as Santana shakes out her left fist, the man staggering back, dazed.

A harried, worried grocery assistant in a green grocery apron, matching shirt with the store's logo in it, a cap, hairnet and jeans, comes rushing over, and says, "Mr. Jones, sir! Miss Cooper wants to..." then he screeches in a halt in front of the scene just unfolding in front of him, whilst a woman comes up from behind, looking equally as worried, breathless and belligerent as she surveys the scene. Rachel recognizes her as Helen Cooper.

For a few beats everyone is standing around awkwardly, before Helen Cooper says, to Rachel, quite faintly and in a half-embarassed way, "Hi, Rachel..." Before Rachel can respond, Helen Cooper turns to the man, who is about to say something else, and says, "Joe...stop it. You're embarrassing me."

The man tries to say something else, but then Helen Cooper says, "How many times do I have to say this? There is no us anymore, Joe. I just want to be alone, okay? I just want to be single. I just want, for once, to have no commitments. To not have to worry about you going after anyone you think might be interested in me, or who I might be interested in. I'm just...Please, Joe...do us all a favor and just...go home...before you embarrass yourself further..."

There is a silence that precedes this before the grocery assistant moves forward, nearer Mr. Jones and attempts to hold his elbow, but the man, now turning a visible, embarrassed red, roughly and angrily pushes his hand away and leaves in a huff. Helen Cooper, visibly embarrassed herself, mumbles a quick apology to Rachel, tells her she'll call her later, before she backs away, turns and leaves the store.

The store seems to have come to a standstill while all this is happening. Time seems to have stopped. But then, when the glass doors open and close behind Helen Cooper as she exits the store, time begins again, and there are excited hushed tones as everyone starts to talk about what has happened.

Rachel breathes out a sigh of relief. Some of the others turn to her, curious and wondering, but since this is New York, and she isn't the movie or TV star that graces tabloid magazines on a regular basis, they very rarely would they actually come up to her and ask.

She and Santana make their way to the counter, quickly pay for their groceries and make their way to the parking lot.

Santana doesn't talk to her the whole way.

In fact, Santana has taken to slamming things.

She slams the groceries in the back of the car, slams the doors, opens the passenger seat in the front, waits for Rachel to get in, slams it again, goes around, enters the driver's seat, slams the door, angrily starts the car, angrily drives out of the parking lot and into traffic, angrily punches the radio on, angrily punches it off, slams car doors and house doors and grocery bags on tables, before she stalks out of the kitchen, stamps up the stairs, slams the bedroom door and Rachel hears the faint sound of water running.

If she didn't know any better, she thinks Santana is furious at her.

Santana doesn't talk to her that night.

She doesn't talk during dinner, or during the moment right before they sleep when they catch up on some episodes of some television shows on Netflix.

In fact, she doesn't sleep beside Rachel and decides instead that she had to do something in her office downstairs. She spends the night there.

The thing is, Rachel wants to talk to her.

But being as she doesn't know what she had done to merit Santana's ire, or whether she actually wants to know what the old Rachel had been up to to earn Santana's anger, Rachel decides not to push it, although in the mornings she would brew coffee and toast bagels for Santana, which Santana would ignore as she stalks out of the house for work, and in the evenings she would prepare dinner – enchiladas or tacos or any of the things she guesses Santana likes, but Santana would say she already ate, or she's tired, and she usually locks herself in her office, _working_.

On the nth day that Santana leaves without speaking, Rachel is at work, doing a show, by the wings, backstage, trying to remember her lines and her blocking and everything else, conveniently ignoring the glare of lights and the noise of the audience responding to the play with laughter and a few well-placed claps, and she hears the assistant say, "Rachel, you're on" and she nods and she moves to the center of the stage, through laughter and claps and she is about to deliver her line when she freezes. Try as she might, she realizes, to her horror, that she doesn't remember what her lines are. There is an awful, deafening silence that follows as everyone else onstage and backstage freezes as well. The assistant director is now stage-whispering the lines, prompting her, and her co-star is prompting her as well, but she finds that try as she might she cannot recall what the next lines are.

The silence continues.

When she comes home that night, she knows, without a doubt, that she had performed badly and that it might be the end of her career.

She knows the blogosphere is having a ball ripping her to shreds. Her assistant, at work, has called her, saying, "Please don't kill me, and please don't be upset, but..." and just from that, she knows that she is ruined. She wonders why her assistant would preface an announcement like that with "Please don't kill me" - was the old Rachel Berry really that much of a diva, she wonders, but then she reads about it on the first reviews for the night and she knows that she is a diva.

* * *

><p>She wants to talk to Kurt, but Kurt is dismissive, and says, "You'll be fine, you've always come back from things like this all the time..."<p>

"But Kurt...I'm _ruined_...I'll _never_ get work in this town again...I'm awful...I'm..."

"Yes, yes...but that's what you said before too when you ditched that first acting gig you got off-Broadway to do an audition in Hollywood and you lost your role and you didn't get the part in Hollywood and you thought you'd never work on Broadway again, but here we are, so," Kurt says impatiently.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm saying you've done this before, these dumb, irresponsible, inconsiderate, self-absorbed, self-centered things that you think you can never bounce from? But in the end, you always end up getting what you want, you always do," Kurt says now.

Rachel freezes. "I'm self-absorbed and self-centered?"

"Well, I mean, I didn't mean it like that..." Kurt begins, scrambling for a better explanation.

"Really? 'Cause it sounds like you did," Rachel says now. "And I'm irresponsible and inconsiderate? How can forgetting my lines be...all that stuff you just mentioned?"

Kurt sighs on the other line. "I'm saying, Rachel, you'll be fine. And not everything is always about you, you know. But everything always seems about you. Even when it's not. Look, I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense right now. I'm tired and I've got a lot of things on my mind. Can I call you later? Sorry."

* * *

><p>She tries to talk to Santana when the reviews do come out.<p>

Broadway critics have a field day on her performance.

Santana is at home that day she tries to bring it up. Santana is by the mini-recording studio, trying to explain to Rachel the things they have been working on. Santana is distant, detached, as she says, leaning over the laptop, "And this here is what we were working on before the accident...you kind of, like to play with different words, and you've got that stupid rhyming dictionary Schuester gave us back in high school – sometimes you just like, lie down on the couch and listen to Broadway tunes or jazz or whatever til you get idea on your head...here, try to lie down here..."

And she motions for Rachel to lie down on the couch and Rachel says, "I really don't think I should do that...What I really want to talk about is how I forgot the lines to that part I was doing on Broadway and..."

"You'll be fine," Santana says absently, as she continues, "And sometimes we tinker on the piano, play bits and pieces here and there and we like to work apart, and then come together and..."

"Yes, but...I'm kind of worried about these reviews online and..."

"And for some strange reason, you used to like to write about headbands and stuff like that, but luckily I've weaned you out of those and..."

"Will you just listen to me!"

Santana stops then and stares at Rachel. Rachel stops, surprised at her own outburst.

"Santana, I'm sorry," Rachel quickly says. "This is all a bit overwhelming for me. I know the doctor said I should get back on my routine and just go back to rehearsals and shows and move back here and get back on my routine with you but I don't remember any of it and I really just want to take a break and can you just leave me alone and why are you not even talking to me..."

Santana stands there, as surprised as Rachel. For a few moments, she hesitates, before she says, "Alright. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...we shouldn't have...I just..." And she takes a few steps back from Rachel, slowly, before she stops. "I just...are you having an affair? With Helen Cooper..."

It is Rachel's turn to be speechless. For a few seconds there is silence, before she manages to say, "No, no, no, no..." in different tones.

Santana nods, absently, muttering, "That's...that's nice...that's..." and here she stops and then she says, half-shouting, "_Bullshit_."

Rachel turns to look at her. "What...?"

Santana grabs at pieces of sheet music, shaking her head at them,before she slams them down on the table and says, "Look, I'm trying, okay! I'm really trying! This isn't easy for me, too, okay!"

Rachel is surprised. "I... I didn't ask you to..."

"Well, fuck, I'm married to you, aren't I? It's not a matter of you asking me or not asking me okay? This is that for better or worse, in sickness and in health bullshit part they were talking about where..."

Rachel grows cold. "Stop yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling at you!" Santana shouts now, before she realizes she's yelling at Rachel. "I'm not yelling at you..." she says, lowering her voice. "I'm sorry..."

"Is that it? Are you staying with me just 'cause you're supposed to?" Rachel asks softly now. "Are you just...putting up with me 'cause you got stuck with me and now there's no way out and..." Rachel stops. She feels a lump on her throat, and tears welling in her eyes.

Santana doesn't say anything. "I think we need to take a break. I'm just...going for a walk, okay?"

Rachel nods, unable to speak, afraid she would choke if she did.

When Santana turns and closes the door behind her, and Rachel hears the slam of the front door and the noise of the car indicating that Santana has left, Rachel lets the tears fall down.

She sits down on the couch and cries.

* * *

><p>Rachel gets the call from Lima later that day.<p>

It is already late afternoon going into night, and she'd cried herself to sleep in their studio, on the couch, cursing herself for not remembering, frustrated at how things have been going at work, and how things are now with Santana.

The phone had woken her up.

It is her father, Hiram.

"Hey, princess," Hiram says now.

Rachel rubs her swollen eyes and stifles the yawn as she says, "Hey dad, what's up?"

Hiram says, "It's...your father...He's sick. You need to come home."

In the end, it is Leroy's illness that decides what Rachel has to do next.

When Santana comes home later that day, to Rachel's pink luggage in the foyer, Santana doesn't know what to think. Even when Rachel explains that her father is ill and she needs to go home and she'd already booked a last-minute, red eye flight to Lima, Santana just stares at the luggage, uncomprehending, refusing to look at her.

When the cab comes to the front of the house, and the cab driver is hauling Rachel's luggage to the back of the cab, Rachel turns to Santana then and says, "Maybe...maybe it's for the best...maybe we need some time apart...I...I can't remember you...our life together anyway...and...it just...seems unfair...doing this to you...You don't need to take care of me...that seems unfair, too...Maybe we need to be alone for a while..."

Santana doesn't say anything.

Even when she watches Rachel walk down the icy walkway, shivering, and get into the cab, and the cab drives down the street away from her and their life together, Santana is unable to say anything.

She only quietly closes the door behind her, and slides down the door, crying.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Dear readers, so sorry for the delay. Been very busy as of late and had to work through brick wall by working on other stories, but am back now. Thanks for waiting and for your patience. This story won't be long, as it's only an interlude to other stories (maybe). Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Cheers!**_


	6. Chapter 6

Blue stands in the middle of the living room of their mothers' house in Brooklyn, appalled by what a few weeks of misery could do to her mother.

She stands there, unable to say anything, as she takes in the empty boxes of pizza on the coffee table, empty bottles of coke, dirty plates and cups, a bag of tea that has seen better days and is now happily growing mold on a spoon, empty bags of Cheetos and Doritos, a half-empty box of Krispy Kreme, a small trail of ants feasting on the jelly and sugar within, the crumpled tissues on the table and on the floor, and in the middle of it all, on the couch, in an old dirty NYADA shirt and pajamas, Santana Lopez, the mother she has loved and adored and idolized her whole life, sitting looking disheveled and unwashed and miserable.

Blue waits a few minutes before she says, "Well, this is an improvement. Now you're wearing the bed and the rest of your bedroom on you."

Santana looks up at her and half-laughs, half-sniffs and a tear slides down her cheek again.

Blue doesn't wait and in a few strides crosses the room and wraps her arms around her mother. She doesn't say anything as she runs a hand on her mother's back as her mother sobs on her shoulder. They stay like this for what seems like ages.

"I don't understand," Blue says later, as she puts weeks' worth of trash in a large, black plastic bag, looking up at her mother, now toweling her hair as she watches Blue work. It took Blue a while but Santana had finally agreed to take a shower. Blue had adamantly pulled her to the bathroom, run her the shower, making sure it was neither too hot nor cold, pushed the shampoo and soap at Santana, stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her, not leaving until Santana had sighed in annoyance, rolled her eyes and said, "Alright, alright, I'm taking a shower..."

"What don't you understand?" Santana asks now, knitting her eyebrows at Blue.

Blue stops, straightens, looks at her mother. "Why don't you just...go to Lima and talk to her? I mean, it can't be that bad...you just need to talk to her and it might...you know be right as rain..."

Santana rolls her eyes and scowls at her daughter. She points to the thick envelope that Blue hadn't noticed before, lying unobtrusively on the coffee table. "Haven't you noticed? Your mother doesn't actually want to talk to me...like, _at all_."

* * *

><p>This isn't entirely true, of course. It's not that Rachel didn't want to talk to her, it's that Santana doesn't know if she can muster enough courage to talk to her. It's been weeks since Rachel had gone home to Lima.<p>

Granted they hadn't parted ways in the best of ways, and the fact that Helen Cooper and her possible suspicions are clouding her ability to see things rationally has affected her decision-making processes, so much so that, it takes her the better part of a few weeks before actually calling Rachel.

And even then, she wouldn't have done it, had it not been for one Quinn Fabray-Murray calling her one day without so much as a greeting, starting the phone conversation with the following statement, "Rachel Berry is in Lima."

Santana had been so surprised, she is speechless at first, before she recovers and says, a bit testily, "I know that."

"She's staying at their house," Quinn continues, as if not hearing Santana at all, and then says, "Without you."

"I _know_," Santana replies with irritation.

"And I've seen her around and she's waving and nodding and saying hello and Mr. and Mrs. Lopez are wondering why she hasn't gone to visit the in-laws..." Quinn says.

"If you haven't noticed, Quinn, she doesn't actually remember me or our life together, doesn't remember the more than twenty years of her life spent married with me, and the years before that when we dated, and the baby we had together, and the two children we raised together and..."

"And so you decided the best way to deal with your wife's amnesia was let her go? That easily?!" Quinn asks incredulously. "And how is this all working out for you?"

"Oh, fuck you, Quinn," Santana says, weakly, suddenly feeling all exhausted, the fight all gone out of her.

Even in the other line, Santana could feel Quinn's smirk. "You've had your chance, so fuck you, too, Santana. I'm on your side. I'm just wondering what your battle plan is, now that Rachel's all deep in that amnesia thing and can't remember you and one washed out Jesse St. James is suddenly just...around...and if I'm not mistaken, putting the moves on your girl..."

Santana's heart sinks. First Helen Cooper, now Jesse St. James? She feels a tightness and pain in her chest that isn't from mere stress. "Jesse St. James?"

"Yes,you heard me right," Quinn confirms. "So, call Rachel now and get over here before I kill you."

Santana considers this, going silent for a few moments.

"Well?" Quinn demands. "What are you still doing there?"

Santana swallows. "Q, she...I think she's cheating on me...again...with...with a woman...Helen Cooper..."

The other end of the line grows silent. So silent for a few moments Santana thinks Quinn has hung up, and she suddenly feels nervous, afraid, because verbalizing it for her means making it seem a bit more real – this suspicion that her wife has been unfaithful to her again. She says, "Q? Q? Are you there?"

Quinn makes an irritated, impatient noise and says, "Yes, I'm here..."

"Did you hear me..."

"Yes, I did hear you, loud and clear," Quinn says.

"I think she's cheating on me..."

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," Quinn says dismissively.

"I thought...I don't know...the woman's beautiful and blonde and...and I don't know..."

"Have you asked her?"

Santana nods her head, even though Quinn can't see her. "Yes. She says no, she's not having an affair. But she also doesn't remember, so I don't know."

Quinn seems to consider this for a while, before she asks, "Do you have reason to believe she's cheating on you?"

Santana considers the question, starts to answer, stops, racks her brain for any clue or sign that Rachel may have been cheating on her again, finds she cannot, so she answers, "No. I don't know. I don't think so. But we've been very busy...what with all our projects together...and apart...and she promised it wouldn't happen again and..."

"Well, there you go then," Quinn says, as if that has settled it.

"Q..." Santana says, hesitantly. "What if...what if...she is...? What if...it's happening again and...what am I going to do? I don't think I can go through all that again...the first time was exhausting enough as it was..."

Santana stops, a myriad mix of emotions going through, a lump forming in her throat.

Quinn is silent again, not knowing what to say. When she does speak, her voice is soft, understanding as she says, "I don't know, Santana. I just don't know..." She falls silent again and there is an awkward silence between them as they press their ears to their phones. Then Quinn inhales and says, encouragingly, "But I do know it's not helping if you're there in Brooklyn and she's here in Lima and there's like all that space between you..." Quinn stops then continues. "Just...talk to her okay? It can't be all that bad...hard part's over...you just need to...make her remember why you guys are so good together..."

Santana nods. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay." Santana hesitates, before she says, "Thanks, Q."

"No problem."

"How's Jeffrey?"

"He's..." she hears a sigh on the other end of the line. "Fine." They talk a bit more about their lives, before Quinn abruptly says, by way of ending the conversation, "Get a move on it, Lopez. When did you start losing your game? That famed Lopez spirit that sent all the boys running and all the girls swooning?"

"Fuck you."

"That's more like it."

* * *

><p>It's easier said than done really, because it takes her another few days to dial the numbers, but that's only because there's Suzie and Blue and Sam egging her on, the girls bothering her through text and email and chats to call Rachel, and Sam, ever loyal friend Sam, calling up to check on Santana, giving her courage, telling her to call Rachel.<p>

Finally she does.

She'd tried to call Rachel a few times those first few days but her calls would usually go to voicemail and hearing her ask Santana to leave a message just made Santana nervous and speechless, the rehearsed speech in her head gone in a second. Once or twice Rachel had actually answered her phone with what Santana perceived was an irritated, "Hello? Santana?" that made Santana cut the call before Rachel could say anything.

Once, she tries texting instead, hoping it would be easier to talk to Rachel if she didn't hear her voice, and she starts with _"Hey, how are you? Hope you're okay"_, sending the message in the hopes that the other woman would answer it.

Rachel doesn't answer right away, but she does anyway, a few hours later with a, _"Hi. So sorry for the late reply. Busy with the dads. I'm fine. What's up?" _making Santana's heart leap to her throat.

Santana considers what to reply next, but then settles for, _"That's good to know. Glad you're okay. Can we talk?"_

The response to that takes longer. And when Rachel does send her reply, the answer is short and terse, _"I'm not ready to talk yet. Sorry."_

She doesn't reply to that one. She waits a few days and then asks her how she is again. Rachel replies with short texts that do not leave any room for a longer conversation. Santana keeps at it though, until Rachel tells her short answers about how her father, Leroy, is doing fine, that he's been allowed to leave the hospital and taken home, how she's taking care of him, how she's considering taking a break from work, how Lima looks different but all the same and Santana takes it all in, following Rachel's lead, not providing too many replies, just answers where it is required. On the nth time that Rachel texts her, Santana cannot resist it. She asks Rachel, "_Can we talk?_"

Rachel's answer takes long and Santana knows the woman has thought about it. The answer she gets is, _"I'm not sure..."_

Santana finds an opening from the uncertainty voiced there, and she says, "_It's been weeks, Rachel. I've given you enough space...maybe it's time to talk..._"

The reply is longer this time, before Rachel replies with, "_I don't know...you got mad at me..._"

Santana replies, "_I know. And I'm sorry. This isn't easy for me. But I'm trying...maybe we could try again? Start over? Just as friends, if you want. And we'll take it from there..."_

"_This isn't easy for me, too, Santana. I woke up with this life I don't remember, with this family and this woman I apparently married and share a life and a family with, and it kind of just...terrified me...It's still terrifying for me now."_

"_I know it's hard, baby. But we've been through worse before and we've survived all of that...there's no reason to believe we can't make it again..."_

"_I don't know..."_

"_Don't you want to remember?"_

"_I just...I thought if I could get back into that routine that would help me remember, but it's been weeks, Santana, and I still don't remember anything...and it's not that I don't want to remember...it's that I just don't remember you. Or any of that life we had together. And I really, really want to. Believe me, I do. I just...I can't pretend to have emotions and thoughts that I don't remember just to spare your feelings and that of the kids...it just wouldn't be fair. To you, to Blue, to Suzie...to me...I'm sorry." _When Santana doesn't answer, Rachel texts her again. _"I'm really sorry, Santana. I can't do it..."_

The last one was a blow to Santana and it strikes her so painfully in the heart she doesn't even reply to the text anymore, tosses the phone on the couch and cries silently on the couch.

* * *

><p>The urge to just hear her voice wouldn't stop Santana trying to dial her number though, and one of those nights when all she had was a bottle of good cognac in front of her and "Golden Girls" on DVD in front of her, she'd tried to call her, but this time on Rachel's fathers' landline. She remembers wondering to herself why anyone in this day and age would still use a landline, although she felt relieved that they still kept their old number nonetheless. The Berry in-laws are, if anything else, creatures of habit. She'd forgotten though that it was past midnight, and that no one enjoys a drunken phone call at this hour, and this is confirmed when an irritated Hiram answers the phone and deduces that it is, in fact, Santana calling the house. Santana had fumbled drunkenly through an apology, struggling to keep her voice from slurring, and Hiram had accepted the apology, but towards the end, he does say, impatiently, "Look, Rachel doesn't want to talk to you right now. She doesn't remember you or your life together. I know this must be hard for you. But there are times when you just need to let go, Santana. This might actually be for the best for all of you. I promise you we'll take good care of Rachel. We always have. Good night now. Don't call us again. Or Rachel. Goodbye."<p>

This phone call had devastated Santana speechless. Days later, there is a quiet announcement – Santana doesn't remember where – that Rachel is taking a break from acting for a while, "a temporary but indefinite retirement", was the confusingly vague term, the reason of which was that Rachel's accident had proven to be a very difficult thing to recover from, and now that there is a family crisis with her father, she doesn't think she can handle all other commitments. She drops out of projects, says goodbye to Broadway, is quietly replaced by understudies or other actors that had been considered for the part. Santana had wondered about the project they were working on, but her agent, McPherson, says she's bowing out of that, too. In his words is the unspoken statement – she can't work with Santana right now. When she discusses this with the studio execs, she's afraid that they would in breach of contract, but she is surprised when the execs are more understanding than she's expected. They are not releasing a full album, but since she and Rachel had worked on enough songs that can be released as singles online, Santana is relieved. She submits the rough tracks for the studio to go over. It would take a while for them to do anything about it, Santana is sure.

The envelope that would come later would push her deeper into depression. When she opens it, she realizes it is divorce papers.

She wants to cry.

Instead, she takes an indefinite leave of absence from work, locks herself in their house and never comes out.

* * *

><p>Santana looks at Blue now. "I bet you think Santa is real, too? Along with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and Jack Frost?"<p>

Blue rolls her eyes patiently at her mom. "Mom, everybody knows Santa isn't real. Jack Frost is, though," she quips with a smile. "Don't bite my head off, Mom. I'm on your side."

Santana sighs, feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry."

Blue drops the bag on the floor and grabs the envelope. She takes out its contents and looks at Santana in disbelief. "Is this...?"

Santana nods.

"And have you...?"

Santana shakes her head.

"Is she...?"

Santana shrugs. She sighs and takes a seat at the edge of the couch. Their couch. The couch they had argued about vehemently before deciding on this one.

Blue comes to sit beside Santana, puts an arm around her and holds her.

They stay like this for what seems like forever until they hear the doorbell ring.

* * *

><p>At first it is Suzie, Kate and the kids, Cody and Beans, Cody in Suzie's arms, Beans waddling through the hallway and living room, arms out and ready to be picked up by Santana.<p>

"Hey, Mom," Suzie says with a grin as with one free arm she gives her mother a one-armed hug.

The hug is longer than usual, firm and tight and when Suzie pulls back, the concern and worry on her face is unmistakable. Suzie is about to say something but Kate has stepped forward to give her mother-in-law a hug, and Beans is begging to be let down so she can hug her Aunt Blue and Cody is giving Santana a hug before he too whines and gurgles that he wants to be set loose on the floors of the Berry-Lopez house.

Suzie grins then as she watches Blue automatically look after the kids, looks at Santana and says, "Brought you something."

At the same time, they hear footsteps from the hallway, followed by the smell of pizza, and then they hear the unmistakable voice of Sam Evans followed by his face and the rest of the body by the doorway as he says, with a wide grin on his face, "Hey! I brought pizza! What's up?"

Over pizza and Krispy Kreme donuts in the now clean living room, everyone suspiciously eyes the fat envelope of divorce papers lying in the middle of the coffee table.

Sam stares at it as he takes a bite of his pizza and says, "I don't get it. Is she serious?"

This question is directed towards Santana and Santana shrugs and says, "I dunno. Seems like it."

"I don't get it," Santana says now. "Why are _you_ here, Sam?"

"Dude, it's game night!" Sam says with a grin, producing the red dice for Dungeons and Dragons.

All of them stare at him.

"Dude, how can you think of game night at a time like this?" Blue asks.

"Dude, can you shut off that nerdy dorky thing you have going on right now? My wife is here," Suzie says.

Sam grins. "Nice try, nerd. Kate already knows you're a nerd and a dork, too. She married you."

Kate smiles at Sam then she reaches out with one hand and strokes Suzie's cheeks. "Yeah, I kinda already know you're a nerd, honey."

"Well, what's the plan?" Sam asks now, face creasing in visible worry. "What're you going to do? Are you signing it? What's going to happen to the house? The kids? Are you...I mean...I can't even...What's happening...?"

Santana, Blue, Suzie, Kate and the kids turn to Sam them.

After a silence, Suzie says, "Wow, Uncle Sam, never thought you'd be this..._invested _in our mom's love life."

Blue just stares at him, amazed, and then says, "Yeah, Uncle Sam. Never saw you upset like this since that time you had that argument with that grocer man about the chickens..."

Sam looks at Blue then. "I had legit questions! I was making sure the chicken was okay!"

Blue looks at him and says, "Yes, but asking the man stuff like," and here Blue shifts to imitate Sam's voice, " '_I have a question about the chicken? If you could tell us a little more about it? Is this local? Is that USDA Organic or Portland Organic? How big is the area where the chickens are able to roam free? Did he have a lot of chickens as friends?' _and then getting upset that the man couldn't answer your questions was kind of too much..."

Suzie nods and says, "Yeah, it was a bit too much..."

Blue looks at him then and asks, "Why are you upset about this now?"

"Because of Santana and Rachel can't make it...then what hope do the rest of us have?!"

They all fall silent after that.

* * *

><p>"Mariachis."<p>

Sam says this so randomly in the middle of Santana telling everyone that the UNHCR has called her again asking her if she's still interested in that position they'd been offering her since before the accident.

Everyone looks at Sam then and asks, "What?"

"Serenade her with mariachis," Sam says, "Or like, I don't know, an orchestra or a band or something...with doves and an airplane spelling out something like 'I heart Rachel' in smoke..."

Everybody just stares at him.

"Or maybe you could do like a whole album dedicated to Rachel, like what that guy did..."

"Uncle Sam, suggesting something like dedicating a whole album to mom like that guy Thicke did, is probably not a good idea," Blue says.

"Yeah, wasn't he that guy with the rape-y songs?" Kate asks now.

"Yeah, didn't your teacher Mr. Schuester almost get fired for wanting your Glee Club to sing 'Blurred Lines' for Nationals or something?" Suzie asks.

Sam nods. "You're right."

"I've got a better question for you, how _is_ Mr. Shuester?" Suzie asks.

"I've got a better question for you," Blue says, grinning. "Is he still alive?"

"And creeping out underage people by _making _friends with them?" Suzie asks.

Blue turns to Sam, "I could say the same thing for you."

"Hey!" Sam asks, pretending to be offended. "I resent what you are implying."

Suzie grins at him. "She's implying that you're friends with your friends' kids. That's kind of weird."

Blue quips, "But you only make friends with senior citizens too, Sue!"

Suzie looks at her and says, "So do you."

Kate smiles and looks at Sam. "I think it's kind of adorable."

Sam beams at her. "Thanks."

"Creepy," Kate adds. "But adorable."

Sam's smile disappears.

Suzie laughs. "We're just kidding, Uncle Sam." She puts an arm around the man and says, "Not many people can pull off denim overalls, a blouse and a Navajo poncho, but you somehow can..."

Sam looks at her. "It's not a blouse! It's a shirt!"

"Says who?"

"Versace!"

"Well, that's your problem right there,"Suzie says.

Blue screws up her nose. "Uncle Sam, you smell like a ladies' bead stick."

"It was on sale!" Sam says defensively. As everyone starts to grin, he says, "Hey, and I've got other friends, too, I'll have you know."

"Oh yeah? Name a couple," Suzie says. "Better yet, name at least one."

Sam racks his brain, then his face brightens. "I'm friends with Mike...and Kurt...and Karofksy...but only because of...Santana and Rachel...and...oh! Blaine!"

Santana looks at him. "Blaine?"

"Oh, yeah, we were kind of friends in high school you know," Sam says. "Kept in touch even when we graduated, and long after Kurt broke off their engagement and stuff...but don't tell Kurt that..."

Santana looks at him. "How is this news to me only now? How come you've never talked about this?"

Sam shrugs. "Well, it isn't really a big deal. It's just we wanted to avoid awkward situations with Kurt and stuff, you know? It seemed sad that when they broke up, Kurt got to keep all their mutual friends, and Blaine got nothing, and I felt bad about that, so."

Santana asks, puzzled, "So you've been friends all this time and nobody knew about it?"

"Yep," Sam says. "He's a good D and D master. I mean, I'm better than him 'cause I do a great Matthew McConnaughey impersonation, all the Huxtables from 'The Cosby Show' but he's pretty good, too. Plus he used to read me Star Wars fan fiction to me before I went to sleep because I hate all that canon fodder George Lucas churns out."

Everyone stares at him.

"You know, Sam, if we go to your tumblr account or something and if we didn't know you, we'd probably think you're gay," Santana says now.

Sam only grins. "Whatever dude. Blaine was supposed to come but thought maybe he'd just come by later."

"Why are you friends with him? You guys absolutely have nothing in common," Santana says.

Sam's grin grows wider. "Yeah, except sports and Comic Con and superheroes and D and D and fan fiction and you guys and Glee and music and...pretty much anything else..."

There is a confused silence as Sam just reaches for another slice of pizza.

"Hey, whatever happened to that old lady Coach Sue?" Suzie suddenly asks, turning to Santana.

Santana shrugs. "I dunno. And...can we talk about me now? I'm kind of in pain and miserable here...What I'm amazed about is the fact that you haven't spoken to me in all this time that we have been talking about my about-to-be-non-existent love life."

Everyone grins at her. "Oh, sorry," Suzie, Blue and Sam say.

"Why are you guys _not_ talking_ to_ me?"

Blue grins even more. "We're not talking to you because we're talking _about_ you."

Sam says, "Oh, hey, how about singing 'What Did the Fox Say' to Rachel?"

"Only if you never want them to get back together again," Suzie says.

Sam nods. "Okay."

Everyone falls silent again.

"Oh, oh!" Sam says again.

Blue looks at him. "What?"

"Why don't you read, like, Rachel's diary to her or something, you know like that movie, 'The Textbook'?" Sam says. Then he screws his forehead. "That doesn't sound right. Maybe 'The Notepad'? Anyway, it's by that guy Nicolas Parks or something...and it starred that guy Ryan Goose with the nice pecs and that gorgeous girl Rachel somebody...Oooh! The girl's name is Rachel too! It's fate, Santana, _fate_."

Suzie laughs. "Yeah, Mom's going to read her stuff from textbooks, like, oh! 'See Jane run...' or 'See Dick run...' or 'See Spot bark..." or something like that..."

Santana just stares at him. Then she says, "You're a moron."

Blue is trying hard not to laugh. "Uncle Sam, I think it's...'The Notebook' by Nicolas Sparks...and it starred Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams..."

"Oh."

"Yeah, although it's kind of weird the one thing you remember about 'The Notebook' is Ryan Gosling's pecs," Blue points out.

"What? He has nice abs," Sam says defensively over the food he is chewing.

"Yeah, but it's kind of creepy to be reading a person's diary to that very same person, Uncle Sam," Suzie says.

"Hmmm...you're right..."

"Yeah, you should totes just read '50 Shades of Grey' to your three-year-old baby sister like some people do," Blue quips now, pointedly looking at Suzie then.

Suzie blushes. "Shut up," she says embarrassed.

Blue grins. "And have your three-year-old baby sister get all excited over gray ties and asparagus because of you."

Sam smiles back as Suzie continues to blush. "Maybe '50 Shades' isn't a good idea."

Finally Kate speaks. "Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way."

Sam looks towards her. "What do you mean?"

Kate shrugs. "I dunno. We've been wondering about how to get Mom back, or how to get her to remember, but maybe we're going about this the wrong way..."

"Meaning?" Blue and Suzie ask.

"Meaning maybe...these things can't be rushed...maybe we should give Mom some space..." Before the others could speak, she holds up her hand and says, "As much space as she wants...Mom's a human being, not some toy robot you can force to do whatever you want. These things take time...maybe she just needs more time...to remember...to get used to the idea of having Mom and us around..."

"And if she doesn't remember?" Suzie asks.

Kate shrugs. "Then we all have to accept it."

As everyone, except Santana, starts to protest, Kate holds up her hand to shut everyone up. "Look, short of a lobotomy, you can't force anyone to remember anything, much less remember feelings, like love or whatever, for anyone else. We can't force her to love us or feel anything that she can't remember feeling..."

"Can't or won't?" Suzie asks sulkily.

"Yeah, aren't they like, soulmates of a lifetime or something?" Blue adds. "Meant to be together? And all that jazz?"

"Yes, but you can't just decide to love someone just because everyone else tells you you're supposed to love him or her just because you can't remember," Kate explains.

"And you can't just stop loving someone either just 'cause you can't remember them!" Blue blurts out a bit irritably too.

Everyone falls silent at this outburst. Then Blue breaks down and cries.

Suzie comes over to her then and says, "Blue..."

Santana and the others don't know what to say.

* * *

><p>That's the thing isn't it? Santana thinks after, when she's left alone with her thoughts, lying in the dark in Blue's room. Blue and Suzie had insisted she sleep on a bed and not on the couch as she had been doing the past few weeks. She couldn't sleep in their bedroom anymore, much less stay in their room without breaking down, with everything reminding her of Rachel, from the color of the sheets to the curtains to the pillows to the carpet to the dresser to the clothes to the very fragrance of the room – faintly smelling of Rachel still, even though she's been gone weeks now. So they'd compromised and she'd temporarily moved to Blue's room and Blue had decided to sleep in Suzie's room, adamant that she make sure her mother is doing okay.<p>

That night when the others had left, that's all she could think of – was love really just a feeling? Or was it also a choice? Did you really stop loving someone just because you can't remember the person? Does the heart stop loving when the brain stops remembering or can't remember at all? Could you decide to love someone just from sheer force of will? And if that is so, then could the reverse be also true? That you can just stop loving someone? That you can just decide not to love someone after all these years? It would be easy then, wouldn't it? If people just decided? Turned off their hearts and let their brains rule? Let logic reign over decisions involving emotions? Then everyone would be compatible with everyone else, and she wouldn't be here, lying alone, in the dark, thinking about Rachel, still loving her and longing for her and missing her and hurting and wanting the pain to stop.

She goes through the following days and weeks like a zombie, there, but not really there. There are times when she feels like she's going to be okay, but there are days when she knows she isn't. She hates Rachel. She hates her. And she loves her. And she hates her. And she wants to die. It would be easy, she thinks, to feel the cold barrel of a gun, the cold metal, against her mouth...

It feels like somebody has died in her life, and because Rachel has driven this last nail in the coffin, sending her the divorce papers, it almost feels like it is.

* * *

><p>One day, she gets a visit from Dave Karofsky.<p>

She wasn't even expecting it.

She'd gone to the door half-expecting Rachel, in all her pink clothed glory, beaming that smile that always felt like it was always meant for her, when, to her disappointment, the doorstep reveals, not a petite brunette with a predilection for infuriating smiles, but a giant bear of a man, looking uncertain and nervous and relieved all at the same time.

Karofsky takes one look at her then and smiles.

"Hey, Santana."

She wonders why Karofsky, of all people, would come visit her. It's not like they're bestfriends or anything – Sam's more a close friend than anything else and always seems to be around more than she wants or cares – but Karofsky usually came as part of the package with Kurt Hummel and he rarely came to their place without the other man. So she wonders about this as she serves coffee and some biscuits to the man, wondering briefly how she ended up as this domesticated middle-aged lady with the impeccable manners of a, well, middle-aged lady. In the middle of the small talk and exchange of pleasantries, she finds out why Karofsky is alone and why Kurt wasn't with him.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Karofsky says, in between sips of coffee. "I thought you'd gone over the deep end or something for sure."

Santana rolls her eyes then. "Why does everyone think I'm going to lose it over Berry?"

Karofsky grins then. "Because in all likelihood you just might."

Santana stares at him then, and as he grins some more, she says, "Fuck you, Karofsky."

Karofsky smiles. "You do know when you say stuff like that it's just ridiculous now, right? Like, it's more funny, than anything."

Santana just continues to glare at him.

"Like, it's like hearing a neutered, clawless cat threaten you or something," Karofsky continues.

"Shut up."

Karofsky laughs a little. "How are you _really_ doing?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Santana says, waving a hand for emphasis. "Why does everybody keep asking me that question?"

Karofsky shrugs. "Maybe we just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Have you talked to Rachel?" Karofsky asks.

Santana shakes her head.

Karofsky waits a beat before he says, "Do you _want_ to talk to Rachel?"

Santana considers this question before she says, "I dunno." She sighs. "You know how it is. You start out with all these things, and then you become partners in this thing called marriage and you divide the chores and you take turns changing the diapers or picking up the kids from the school or doing the dishes or making dinner or picking up the dry cleaning or whatever...and it's like that for the next twenty, thirty years, until you wake up one day and you don't remember why you're together in the first place and you start asking yourself why and..." Santana stops, a lump forming in her throat. Then she says, "We've been through a lot and we've...kind of survived all of it...but I think we've just...reached that point where I don't think we're going to make it through, you know?"

There's a silence that follows during which Santana stops, realizing, for the first time, that it is true. A more surprising realization: even though she's going through so much pain and loss, and the unbelievable stress of being separated from Rachel has also given her the time and space she's denied herself for so long. As she goes through a suddenly empty house with suddenly so much more space than she's realized now that Rachel has gone and the kids are gone, she finds she can do all the things she's always wanted to do: eat meat when she wants to, sprinkle salt on her food when she wants to, drink coke with Doritos and Cheetos and a sandwich for breakfast, order McDonald's beef burgers takeout without feeling guilty or being lectured to about how McDonald's is the worst company ever with the worst track record for when it comes to environmental policies , play Jay Z and Pharel and classic Wu Tang Clan and Arrested Development and Rage Against the Machine without having Rachel demand that she turn them down, go on Netflix or some other livestreaming website and choose whatever show or movie she wants to without Rachel telling her how violent and pointless Game of Thrones and True Blood with and ending with them watching yet another Barbra Streisand movie, surf the internet in her underwear, walk around her living room in her underwear, wake up when she wants to, sleep when she wants to, catch up on her reading, and all the other various things she's been meaning to do but never had the chance because she was busy being married to Rachel and raising the kids.

* * *

><p>Even Quinn seems to have realized this without Santana ever bringing it up the next time she calls her when Santana breaks the news that Rachel wants a divorce. Quinn had called her regularly the past few weeks, just checking up on her, giving each other updates on their lives, Santana's life, Quinn's life, Jeffrey, Aidan, Congress, Lima, and so on, until Santana breaks the inevitable: that she thinks Rachel won't ever actually remember, and that Rachel wants a divorce and that she doesn't know what's going to happen next.<p>

Quinn had listened in silence, before she takes a deep breath and says, "Wow, I don't know what to say."

Santana waits patiently as the silence in the other line stretches on, before Quinn says, "Maybe it's for the best."

Santana starts to speak up. "I..." then she stops, thinking about what Quinn has said.

"Uh, maybe this is all happening for a reason," Quinn continues.

Santana listens, not knowing how to respond.

"We don't know what's going to happen next, but maybe...just maybe, you really do need a break from each other right now," Quinn says hurriedly, sounding worried that maybe Santana would get angry at her for saying all this.

Santana would be, except she's realizing that maybe Quinn is right. For the first time in her life, she's alone, without a wife and kids, and it's terrifying, but, and here she would never admit it to anyone, it's _liberating_, somehow. Freeing her up to do stuff she's always wanted to do. She thinks about that offer UNHCR has asked her to do for them.

"Maybe it'll all fall into place somehow," Quinn ends, trying to sound hopeful for Santana.

All will fall into place. Santana reflects on this. Something, she doesn't know what, clicks in her. Maybe that's what's happening now.

* * *

><p>Santana is brought back to the present by the noise Karofsky makes as he bites into a biscuit.<p>

So Santana asks, "How's Kurt? Shouldn't he be here with you? You guys are always together it's kind of...eewww..."

Karofsky waits a beat, before he says, "I...wouldn't know...I haven't seen him in a while..."

"What? Why? You live in different houses or something? How come?"

Karofsky shrugs. "We broke up. I haven't seen him since."

He says it so casually that it surprises Santana. Santana doesn't know what to say at first.

"I...shit...fuck...I don't know what to say...I'm sorry, Karofsky."

Karofsky nods. "You and I both."

There's a silence that precedes this before Santana says, more out of curiosity than anything else, "So...why'd you guys break up?"

Karofksy takes a long, slow sip of his coffee first, before he says, "Funny you mention that...but it all started with one Helen Cooper..."

* * *

><p>The alarm on Rachel's phone starts to play 'Don't Rain On My Parade' and Rachel wakes up to her room like she's never left it.<p>

Except she knows she has. And she's still not getting used to it. Or this room. Or the rest of the house, and Lima for that matter. Her room, for one, has discarded that feminine, pink look it has had since before she was born. The small four poster bed has been discarded for a bigger, queen sized bed, with the exact same shades at the sheets, pillows and curtains that the room she apparently shared with Santana had in Brooklyn. The walls have been stripped of the wallpapers she and her dad had put up when she was a child and is now a nice, neutral, adult beige color. The desks and the cabinets are a nice polished color, but everything else is beige. She'd gone over the cabinets and the drawers and the desk and realizes from some of the unrecognizable items there that this room hasn't been her own since after high school, there's a sense of this room having been _shared_, somehow, from the expensive powersuits and other clothes that line half of the closet, to the heels and sneakers and other shoes at the bottom of the closet, to the other accouterments lining the dresser and that she is pretty sure she isn't using at all.

The house itself seems different and the same at the same time. It's the same house she's grown up in, but it seems a bit like her dads have accumulated so much more – old newspapers and magazines lying in stacks by the front door, and the closets, antique Greek and Roman miniature and not-so miniature bronze and marble statues that feature naked young men in various poses litter the living room, paintings on the walls and standing by the walls, layers of dust on windowsills, and cabinets and closets and mantels and shelves, and even on the piano, which indicates to Rachel that her dads haven't touched it for a while.

And, of course, the most glaring change in the house: her father, Leroy, lying on a hospital bed in the living room, with all manner of tubes snaking in and out of him, a heart monitor monitoring his heartbeat, a defibrillator on one side, a table on which syringes and various kinds of pills off to one side, and one of the chairs, Hiram Berry, keeping the nightly vigil for him, keeping a close watch on his husband, making sure he's okay.

There hadn't been time to do anything else since she arrived in Lima but to take care of both her parents. She'd walked out of the small, moderately busy airport, not noticing until later how the town hadn't changed a bit, and straight to the hospital, having a team of doctors explain, in very infuriatingly vague terms what her father's ailment is. Through it all, one thing she realizes is that, her father is suffering from old age. Leroy Berry is older than Hiram by at least a decade, and though that didn't matter when they were younger, now it would seem that age and the various illnesses that comes with getting older has put a lot more between Leroy and Hiram Berry than it did in a lifetime.

The shock of first seeing Leroy Berry on a hospital bed, in a private room, with all those tubes on the back of his hand, and on his nose, and on his chest, his skin pale, his once lustrous gray hair now limp and thinning and snowy white, his body weak as he raises one palm to wave at his daughter, doesn't leave Rachel even when her father is discharged, at the insistence of said father over the protests of Rachel, Hiram and the doctors and nurses taking care of him. "There's nothing anyone can do right now!" Leroy had said irritably, "I'm old alright? I'm going to die sooner or later, either way...in which case I'd like to die in peace, with the people I love, in the home I'd lived in with my husband and daughter my whole life. You can all give me that one last thing, can't you? I think I deserve that at least."

And so with much trepidation, everyone agrees and sends Leroy home.

No one, even Rachel and Hiram, are prepared for the sleepless nights and the exhausting days of taking care of Leroy, of the irritability and bitterness and belligerence that has taken over, of the lucid and not-so lucid moments when Leroy is throwing things at them, hurling insults at Rachel and "that damned wife of yours" that he then reveals he's never liked ("She's not good enough for you, pumpkin, nobody is!" he says and Rachel wants to believe him but she feels a pang akin to pain instead), bathing him, changing him, feeding him, watching over him, reading Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"to him, watching musicals with him, playing cards with him, doing the hundred and one things with him that leave both, especially Rachel, exhausted and confused and anxious and just wanting to curl up in her room and sleep until all this is over. It is at these moments when she thinks briefly about Santana and then falls asleep to thoughts of wondering how the other woman might be right about now, sketches of the woman on a sketch pad that she keeps by the bedside table, the woman's features smirking up at her through ink and pencil. Rachel wonders why Santana keeps coming to her in dreams and why she only ever seems to be only one she can draw on paper.

* * *

><p>Santana looks at Karofsky then.<p>

"Helen Cooper?" she'd asked then, not knowing what else to say.

It had all come tumbling forth from Karofsky then. It had started with Burt Hummel really, Kurt's dad, who had never actually warmed up to Karofsky or their relationship of more than two decades despite everything Karofsky had tried to do to make him like him.

"Apparently it has something to do with his old man not getting over the fact that I used to bully his kid when we were in high school but whatever," Karofsky mentions then.

Burt had been diagnosed with a tumor when he was younger, a benign one that the doctors had spotted and treated and had Burt declared cancer-free. Years later though, another tumor would be discovered, this time in his lungs, despite the fact that he did not smoke. It had been stage three cancer, and the doctors had immediately put Burt under a treatment regimen that included chemotherapy, pills and everything else that started to make Burt more irritable and angry and more difficult to manage. Carol, Burt's estranged wife, and with whom Burt had, as of late, had an amicable relationship that had then blossomed into a rekindled romance that neither had wanted to end in front of the altar, had moved back into the Hummel house and started to take care of Burt. Both had decided Kurt wouldn't know anything, because what would telling him bring anyone but a lot of pain and heartbreak? They wanted to spare the boy and wanted him to go on with his thriving modest success as a fashion designer.

Except Kurt did finally find out. Lima was small and is turns out New York was as well. When Kurt had found out he'd flown in to Lima the day he found out, insisting that he take care of his father, dropping projects that he thought wouldn't be too hard on him taking care of his father, bringing home work that couldn't wait. Burt's treatment was going well, and finally Burt and Carol had convinced Kurt to go back to New York – he'd been working on his Spring collection then, and it was the middle of winter and he had London and Paris and New York fashion shows to think of. He eventually relented and went back to New York – but he went home whenever he can because Burt was all he had, they were close as two people could be, and Kurt would be devastated if something happened to Burt without him around.

Santana knew about all this, and the only reason she hadn't told Rachel was because she thought the strain of the other things, coupled with this one, would be too much for her. But she let Karofsky continue.

"So he would be gone, for days, weeks at a time," Karofsky says, "Which wasn't any different from before, except before we used to make time for each other, whereas now, we'd barely have time to say hello and goodbye."

Then Karofsky, who'd kept working in show business in New York, working as producer for television shows and movies for one studio, had bumped into Helen Cooper, an actress he'd worked with once, many years ago, in "True Delights". They hardly knew each other, but they had started to hang out – partly because Helen Cooper was going through a rough time with an ex she had been living with who had turned out to have a mental illness, and partly because Karofsky, after a long, rough day in the office battling other execs and studio heads during board meetings, found himself coming home to an empty condo with only the television and his computer for company.

"It kind of...started easily enough," Karofsky says, blushing. Power lunches, the occasional dinner, hanging out at The Met and the Madison Square Garden, occasional chats and emails online texts once in a while. Here was a kindred spirit, Karofsky thought, someone who knew a little what he was going through and so they bonded over that.

"It...it wasn't supposed to happen," Karofsky says then.

* * *

><p>Santana had looked at him, curiously, not knowing what to think. Karofsky explains then – about the celebration, of Helen Cooper snagging a role on Broadway and calling Karofsky first so they could celebrate. Helen Cooper, like most actresses, had dreamed of Broadway. Hollywood was where the money was at, but there was something about New York and Broadway, a certain kind of validation to one's craft, perhaps because Broadway was associated with cultured tastes, and Hollywood conjured up crass pop culture, Michael Bay and blockbusters, and ticket sales, and not art or craft at all. Rachel was there during that party, Rachel had snagged lead. They'd all gotten pleasantly drunk. Santana suddenly remembers it, because she remembers picking Rachel up from the party later. The party had been at Helen's, and Karofsky hadn't known how it was but he'd spent the night there, and he'd woken up with Helen beside him. Apparently they'd both passed out drunk. But that wasn't all. Karofsky had found out that they'd slept together as well. But that's not what surprised Karofsky or Helen. By this time, Karofsky had thought he had been gay. It surprised him how fluid it could all be. What surprised both was their interest in a possible no strings attached arrangement, partly to assuage loneliness, partly to just have somebody to talk to. The affair had gone on for months, and Rachel had found out about it, and had wanted Karofsky to tell Kurt, and Karofsky had said he would, but each time he thought he would be on the verge of telling, he'd lose his nerve. Helen had just been grateful Rachel hadn't told Kurt at all. It would have been a big scandal for all of them.<p>

And then Kurt had found out. And then it was too late.

Karofsky broke it off with Helen Cooper.

Kurt moved out of their condo after.

Karofsky hadn't talked to him or seen since.

* * *

><p>"I knew it was stupid, and I should have...done something about it, but..." Karofsky says now. "It's just...I don't know..." He looks at Santana then. "I feel like...our relationship had run its course, you know? It's just...something's gone somehow...and it couldn't come back anymore...even if we tried. We'd been trying for months and...I don't think it's his fault, anymore than it's mine, although I know cheating on him wasn't the greatest thing to do ever. We were best friends, you know? Towards the end of our relationship, we were just fucking best friends."<p>

And now Karofsky had come, hoping he could talk to Rachel, but Rachel had gone, and Santana and Rachel had separated, and for some strange reason, Karofsky feels guilty somehow.

But all Santana can think is Rachel hadn't cheated on her after all.

* * *

><p>Rachel's life seems to have slowed to a crawl in Lima, Ohio. A routine, but a crawl nonetheless. It consists of heart rates and pills and dietary supplements and meetings with doctors and nurses and trips to the grocery store and encouraging words to both dads and handling the reality of dealing with her fathers' mortality.<p>

Hiram had once sat her down to show her a brochure for Shady Oaks, a retirement home on the outskirts of Lima that he had been thinking of going to if Leroy doesn't get better. He had also told her of his decision to sell the house then because by then it would be too big for him, and he'd much rather be in a small hole in a retirement home, where there are facilities and health care professionals monitoring him twenty four seven.

She had refused at first, insisting she could come live with him and take care of him, but Hiram is adamant and says, "You have your own life, Rachel. It would be unfair to take you out of all that."

"Dad..."

"Rachel, you need to think about what you're going to do now," Hiram says gently. "What about that career you left in New York? That family you left behind? Santana? Don't you want to remember?"

And Rachel doesn't know what to say to that.

Doesn't even know where to start.

* * *

><p>Sam had visited Santana then, days after Karofsky had come to inadvertently explain about Helen and how unwillingly complicit she was to his affair.<p>

The last snows of winter were melting into sludge in the deep crevices of streets and sidewalks and roads and shutters, and Sam had come in an ill-advised bright green jogging suit.

Santana had stared at him then, too shocked to say anything else, as Sam announces, "We're going, old friend, for a jog!"

It had taken moments of cajoling, insults, threats of bodily harm and some other rituals the best friends are prone to, before Santana agrees to jogging around a nearby park.

"I promise, it's going to be good for you," Sam manages to say as he begins to wheeze just a few blocks from Santana's home.

"What the fuck are you on about anyway?" Santana manages to say back as she begins to wheeze herself.

Sam grins at her as he ineffectually wipes at beads of sweat. "It's like...a twelve-step program...of how to get over an ex...or something..." And then he starts to tick of the steps on fingers as they stand on the sidewalk, breath white in the air. "First, stay fit, second, eat healthily, third, hang out with friends, fourth, keep a diary, fifth, start dating..."

Santana had rolled her eyes then and leaves Sam where he is standing.

"Hey!" Sam calls out after her as he follows her.

As he falls into step, he asks, "Have you signed the divorce papers yet?"

Santana stops then, looks at Sam and says, "I don't think I'm quite there, yet."

"Fair enough," Sam says. "But how about dating again, what do you say?"

* * *

><p>She's really not ready yet, no, not even by a long shot, to ever let go of Rachel, much less date yet. What she should do is probably stage one last rally, get the nerve to take the next flight to Lima, to take that taxi up to 241 Birch Hill Road, and come hell or high water, ring that doorbell, wait for someone to open it and hold her ground in front of Rachel and list the many ways in which she believes they are meant to be together and must thus work this out like they usually did with all they've got. After all, Rachel hadn't cheated on her, they'd spent enough time apart for Santana to realize that maybe she should give it another shot, but thinking about it, and actually doing it, are two entirely different things that spell the difference between getting Rachel back and saving their marriage and letting her and their marriage go.<p>

And the people – the people around her, her kids, her friends, Sam, mostly, although sympathetic to her and Rachel's problem right now, are also not letting her sink into depression and misery as well.

Sam, in a mission to help Santana deal with her problem, comes in one day and start to, in the words of Sam, "De-Rachel the house", which meant, really, removing all items that would remind Santana about Rachel, which meant pretty much everything in the house.

She would protest against Sam's plan, because, really, her relationship with Rachel is neither here nor there at the moment, but she's holding out for hope that maybe eventually Rachel would remember her. But then Sam just looks at her and throws a bucket of cold water on that argument when he says, "Dude, she hasn't called, emailed, texted, or done anything that would let all of us know that she's at least interested in the idea of getting together with you. Nor has she indicated that she remembers you, like at _all_. Even I know a losing battle when I see one. And this is one losing battle you should probably prepare yourself to give up."

Santana doesn't really know why she hadn't picked up the phone to call or even text Rachel, but the days stretch on to weeks, and then months, months of which she hasn't talked to Rachel, and it goes on for so long that there comes a time when she stops grabbing her mobile phone and debate whether to contact Rachel, and just lets everything be.

* * *

><p>Then finally, one day, Santana grabs the divorce papers, signs them and sends them off. Later, their lawyers would sort it out: the house, their belongings, their separate and joint banking accounts, the car, even the wedding and engagement rings. Since their children are all grown up, there would be no alimony or custody hearings to speak of. Rachel would prefer to stay in Lima, with her parents first, and Santana, well, would not be long before she decides on what to do after the divorce.<p>

She stares at her wedding ring then, takes it off and pushes it away.

She then grabs the letter UNHCR had sent her, and reads it, she thinks, for the nth time.

* * *

><p>Rachel runs into Jesse St. James a few times, and she doesn't know how she ends up saying yes to a date with him, but she does. It's not exactly ideal, but she needs to see about where this is all leading, and so she agrees on a few dates with him.<p>

After a few emotional discussions with her father, she agrees to check out Shady Oaks Retirement Home and would have liked the place where Hiram is planning to spend the rest of his life with – it is situated in the middle of the woods, has a great view of the lake, is surrounded by trees, has friendly staff and excellent facilities, had it not been for seeing Coach Sue Sylvester, herself spending the rest of her miserable, retired life in the home.

"Rachel Berry," Coach Sue says with that characteristic smirk on her face. "Never thought I'd see you here."

"Coach Sue, hi," Rachel says, attempting a smile at the old woman.

"Where's Sandbags? She here with you?" Coach Sue says.

It takes Rachel a second to realize what Coach Sue is saying before she understands that Coach Sue is asking for Santana. She then starts to shake her head."She's...not here...at the moment..."

Coach Sue takes one hard look at her with her steely blue eyes, then at Rachel's ring finger and smiles. "Oh, divorced are you?" She says it like she expected it, with that "I-told-you-so" tone of triumph, like she's won a bet with the world and now she's going to enjoy it. "Never understood anyone's need to subject themselves to that age-old, patriarchal institution of oppression with a history of treating women as properties to be bartered anyway. Actually, _never_ understood why Santana would want to marry you, or get married to anyone really, and be subservient and submit herself to someone for the rest of her life."

"I..." Rachel begins to say, but stops, confused.

"It's like she's not even herself anymore," Coach Sue says then. "That's why you cheated, didn't you? Word has it you cheated on Lopez...you wanted her when she was all by herself and a trophy you wanted to snag, but once you got together and she'd given up everything for you and the years started to take its toll...you wanted somebody else...somebody younger..."

"I..." Rachel says then. "That's not true."

"Oh, believe me it is true, midget," Coach Sue says then. "Heard it through the grapevine. Grapevine hasn't failed me yet. Hope whoever you cheated on with her was worth it at least..."

Rachel starts to shake her head. _It can't be true, can it?_

Coach Sue leans over from her wheelchair then and with that smirk still on her face, Coach Sue says, "It's the love, isn't it? It's the love that keeps the loneliness and that need to scratch one's eyes out at bay, it's what helps one forget how miserable the world is, how short and brutal life is, how indifferent and unfeeling the world is. Because we are deeply, deeply flawed human beings and we need some outside validation in order to exist. And you need it more than most. And it's the love – you feed on it, and it feeds on you, and in the end, eventually, it's the love that will be the world's undoing. It's the love that kills you. And drives you crazy... and you've been feeding on Santana and have left her to out high and dry leaving nothing but an empty husk..."

* * *

><p>Rachel is on her cellphone, heart beating against her chest, even before she is out of the home and into the waiting cab. I<em>t's not true, it's not true...oh, god, please, don't let it be true...<em>she thinks. If it's true, then she'd done something irrevocable, she'd hurt Santana...and she needs to fix it. Nothing matters now but that she should fix this, whatever it is, with Santana.

But the phone on the other line doesn't answer and instantly goes to voicemail.

Rachel briefly stands by the cab, not knowing what to do.

* * *

><p>Sam, Blue, Suzie, Kate, Beans and Cody are all watching as Santana gets all her stuff together.<p>

JFK Airport is, as always, busy, passengers and airport personnel and a calm voice over the PA system announcing flights coming in and departing, as large boards announced flights above and beyond them.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asks now as he looks at Santana, who is busy fidgeting with her flight ticket and passport.

Santana sighs. "No, yes, no, I don't know..."

Suzie glares at Sam then and says, "You're doing the right thing, Mom. You need the break."

"You said you've always wanted to spend some time abroad," Blue points out. "Well, this seems like the right time now."

Kate nods. "Yes, don't worry about these two, I'll watch over them."

Santana nods back and gives Kate a hug. "Someone has,too."

Sam says, "And you do a good job of it."

"Maybe while you're at it, you could find someone to take care of Sam," Santana quips.

"Hey! I do alone okay," Sam says.

"Yes, you do," Santana says affectionately as she gives Sam a hug. "You take care of my girls for me, okay?"

Sam nods. "Will do."

Santana hugs Suzie, Blue and her grandchildren then and says, "I'm going to miss all of you."

"Please don't," Blue jokes. "Just...go have fun and stop thinking about us."

Suzie says, "Yeah, this is about you, after all."

Santana says, "Somehow, going overseas on a human rights mission doesn't seem at all like it's about me..."

Blue beams. "But it's a change of scenery, yeah? Something you might need right now."

The voice on the PA system announces Santana's flight and Santana smiles then. "I think I have to go in now."

The girls and Sam nod. "Okay."

"We'll see you in a few months, okay?" Suzie says.

Santana nods.

"Love you, Mom," Suzie and Blue say then.

"Love you guys, too," Santana says, smiling through the tears she's trying to control.

The others nod. Santana picks up her bags, turn and walk through the airport and into a new life.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to loyal and always supportive readers Nightingale11, yanval and especially pictureofsuccess and kutee, for sticking with me through this. Hope you like. Cheers!_**


	7. Chapter 7

Santana wakes up to a beautiful day on the little private island beach resort of Banyan Dali, Maldives. A soft morning breeze smelling of ocean and freshness wafts through the open windows on the side of the villa, the rustle of leaves from trees surrounding the cottage, trees that effectively shield it from the infinity pool, and the rest of the resort guests, and the sound of the crash of the waves against the shore come to Santana's ears, the smell of the sea, reminded her that she isn't in the efficient, tiled, eternally fluorescent-lit floors of the UN offices, going through mountains of paperwork, or sitting in front of a computer, going through mountains of data, or in meetings, going through mountains of paperwork. The ocean breeze, the smell of the ocean, the rustle of leaves, the sound of the waves – all these reminded her that she is in Banyan Dali Resort, in a small nation few but those who can afford it have heard of, spending a much needed holiday after weeks and months of work. The movement beside her, a smooth naked, caramel-colored back, white sheet covering her from the waist down, an arm thrown carelessly out, the other thrown possessively on Santana's own equally naked body.

Santana guesses it's around nine in the morning, but glancing at her watch, lying on the bedside table, reveals to her, that it's about ten instead.

She slowly moves, so as not to wake the other occupant of the bed, and finds parts of her body aching – but in a pleasant way. She quietly turns to her left and watches the body sleeping peacefully beside her. She has the urge to run fingers on smooth skin, has the urge to kiss the woman awake, and make love again, but they'd been awake for most of the night and she thinks even a woman as young and fit as this woman sleeping beside her now, needs her rest.

Aisha Stevens. That is her name. A woman at least a decade younger than she is, working in UNIFEM, part of the second wave of the UN teams that had been put together for each continent, to go over and verify reports, to interview, to attend and conduct conferences and meetings with leaders from each country, to make their own reports on the advances that each country has made for women all over the world and make the recommendations for the necessary changes each country should make to make the world an even better place for women. The organization had declared it the decade of the woman, which meant a sweeping, worldwide look at how the woman is faring in every part of the world and towards the end of that decade, there needed to be a worldwide report that would indicate action points with regards women. Santana's work with her LA law firm years back, and her work in New York afterward, the law firm in Albany, and the consultancy she'd had with different legal firms, had helped bring her to the attention of UNHCR itself. One UNHCR official had suggested she apply for that team and she'd done so, having known that since it was very competitive, and the hiring and selection was very difficult, she'd had better chances of getting a solo in New Directions. To her surprise, she'd passed the initial selection, then the first, second, third and final stages of the selection process. There had been gaps the stages, so that when her ex-wife had had her accident, she'd had the time to take care of her, and do the other things needed to keep her family together and sanity intact. It had been by sheer luck, as of everything coming together, that during the divorce proceedings, she'd had the final results of selection and had been informed that she had been accepted and should prepare for months of working overseas. She had been given a deadline to accept, and right from the start, had been unsure as to what to do, but once the divorce papers were signed, she had finally accepted the offer. Before the divorce, she had held back, not knowing what to do. But after that, there had been no reason to stay in the States any longer. She'd accepted the offer and left on the next available flight to Africa.

She had an idea that the work wouldn't be a piece of cake, but she hadn't realized how daunting the task was once she arrived in Kenya. She hadn't counted on the paperwork involved, the endless meetings, the endless readings, the endless reports, the endless conferences with the local government officials, the traveling from country-to-country, navigating customs, traditions, language barriers, perceptions and a whole lot of other things, and repeating the process over and over again the next, seemingly endless months. Her team had been assigned Central Africa. UNHCR had offered her a place in the Latin American team, knowing as they did her heritage, but she had expressed preference for Central Africa instead. Hence she had visited Ghana, Nigeria, Senegal, Burkina Faso, Mali, North and South Sudan, Ethiopia, Somalia, Benin, Ivory Coast, Cameroon, Uganda, Tanzania and the rest of Central Africa. She had heard heartbreaking stories of genital mutilation, violence, torture, kidnappings, rape, abuse – unimaginable stories that made her own particular drama seem trivial somehow in the grand scheme of things.

What made it bearable, she thinks, is Aisha Stevens.

Aisha Stevens comes in the middle of their project, in Nigeria. She had come into the UNHCR office, and into the meetings, in her crisp business suits, heels, and plunging necklines that gave Santana an occasional breathtaking view of slopes and swells. Aisha is tall and caramel-skinned and beautiful, confident and determined, but diplomatic and conciliatory in the way that Santana had noticed UN employees tended to be. Aisha had worked with the UN for the better part of a decade and she knew how to deal with government, non-government, UN and other international organization officials. Aisha's father is a Nigerian-born man who lived in London, and an American woman from New England. They had met in London and married promptly after. She thus had the high cheekbones and almond-eyes of her father, and the green eyes, thin lips and long, straight, silky smooth auburn hair from her mother. She once told Santana, in London she is Labor, in America, a Democrat. She hated Tories and hated Republicans even more. That much they had in common. That and the fact that they were both multi-racial and thus bonded over the difficulties of growing up one. Aisha reminded Santana of the singer Leona Lewis a little, except that Aisha didn't really sing, nor cared much for the arts, really. When her parents had eventually divorced, Aisha had opted to stay with her mother, so that when she spoke, she had a confusing but delightful British-American accent that fascinated Santana. But sometimes, when they talk of London, sometimes all Santana can think of is, Rachel used to live in London and she'd gone there to get her back.

When they first see each other, Aisha gives no indication of being interested in Santana. She is business-like, detached, distant, efficient, and only gives her a curt nod or a terse "Good morning" as she rushes off to a meeting, or conference or the many other things she needs to do. But Santana knows she is like that to anyone, and the presence of a plain gold band on her left ring finger indicates that she may well be married, so Santana doesn't really mind anything. She does enjoy watching Aisha during meetings, and more than once, Aisha has caught her staring at those slopes and swells, and once or twice when Aisha had dropped something on the floor and had leaned over to pick it up, or had walked off, Santana had stared at her ass and her hips swaying and felt a bit of the desire swelling inside her. An African co-worker, ignorant of Santana's sexual preference, had leaned towards her then, when they were both watching Aisha walk away and he had joked, "Wouldn't you want some fries with that shake?"

As they slowly and painstakingly made their way across Central Africa, from its western borders to its eastern ones, Santana had ignored Aisha's light touches, a hand on her elbow, on the small of her back, the brush of fingers against her own, a slow, brief, almost flirtatious smile, a few other things that seem deliberate and, where it not for the fact that Santana knew she was straight and married, she would definitely assume would be flirting and coming on to her.

So she had ignored it.

* * *

><p>It wasn't like Santana hadn't actually gotten laid. When she'd spent a few days in Switzerland before going to Central Africa with the rest of her team, she had actually met a beautiful, red-haired young French woman who had smiled at her coquettishly and in halting English had asked Santana if she knew the way to some particular street that Santana had no idea about. That night, when they were naked and sated in the woman's hotel room, she admitted it was just a pretense to get Santana into bed, because, as Clemence, the woman, had said, Santana was hot and, "What is <em>ze<em> word you say? Fuckable..."which made Santana roll on top of her and slip fingers inside of her, watching the young woman gasp and moan and say her name over and over again.

* * *

><p>Once, in Kenya, just before one of their meetings, Santana and Aisha had checked into separate hotel rooms, but had bonded over dinner the first night, because the rest of their team were tired and perpetually jetlagged. Towards the end of the evening, they'd gone up to their rooms, and Santana had walked Aisha to her room.<p>

Aisha, holding her keycard in her hand, had smiled at Santana then and asked, "Do you want a coffee then?"

Santana had quickly thought about it and shook her head. "I don't think so."

Aisha had smiled even more. "Well, fancy coming in anyway?"

Santana had been so surprised by the brazen invitation that she had only nodded her head. Aisha had asked her to wait a few minutes as she tidied up and went to the loo, as she liked to call the bathroom.

After that, Aisha had unlocked her room for Santana to enter, and as Santana watched, Aisha dimmed the lights, had undressed in front of Santana and got into her bed, under the covers. She had stared at Santana then, knees tucked on her chin and asked, "Well?"

So Santana had undressed as well, and she remembers that first night they'd had sex, Aisha's hands holding the headboard, her body dusky in the dimness, Santana running her tongue on the inside of her thigh, her legs supple, her legs thrown on Santana's shoulders. Aisha smelled heavenly, a little citrus-y. Santana had felt self-conscious at first. Santana had lost the muscles that Sam and the others had joked were "cheer muscles", had some sagging skin, wrinkles, wattles, veins sticking out, while Aisha was in fine, toned condition. Aisha had some sagging to the skin above her stomach, on the side of her breasts and on her throat, but she still looked sexy. Santana run her fingers, then her tongue over Aisha's folds, teased and licked and sucked and entered her. Aisha had writhed and moaned and gasped and had whispered, "Yes, yes, Santana, yes, yes, yes..." and she had repeated it ten, twenty, thirty times as she came into Santana's mouth and the room filled with sweat and the smell of sex. Once she was done, Aisha had turned her over and kissed and licked Santana, her face, her skin, her breasts, her stomach, sucking her nipples, and hovering above Santana's sex, had quirked an eyebrow, wondering if it was okay with Santana. Santana had paused briefly, not knowing what to do.

How long had Santana slept with a woman? Slept with anyone really? How long since she's woken up regretting nothing?

Since she'd decided to be with Brittany and years after Brittany's death, to be with Rachel, she had never slept with anyone else. She had thought those years were behind her. And that night, faced with the question of being intimate with someone other than her ex-wife, with a stranger, Santana wasn't sure, but in the end she had nodded and Aisha had grinned mischievously. Aisha was younger and thus more eager to please. Santana's pleasure was her only goal and she worked tirelessly, kissing and licking and sucking between Santana's legs. They were working well together, fluidly, each seeming to sense what the other wanted or needed without speaking. There was some awkwardness, of course, but in the end, they had ended up laughing it off. Later, when she had gotten up to get some water from the fridge, Aisha had unfolded herself from the bed, took some ice from the fridge and started kissing Santana again, the kiss extending downwards as she sank to her knees between Santana's legs, making Santana come on the carpeted floor of the hotel room in the heat of a Kenyan night. After they'd drank chill white wine on the bed, kissed some more, and it all began all over again. Aisha had moved on top of Santana then, her rhythm increasing as Santana's fingers found itself between Aisha's thighs, in the warmth and slick wetness there, as she lay back and watched Aisha increase her rhythm, her breath escaping in a hiss as she kept whispering, "Yes, yes, oh god, yes, yes, yes..." and all Santana could feel was a wetness pooling between her legs, as she asked herself, "Yes, what?"

They'd had sex the whole night.

* * *

><p>It was clear to both of them what it all was. Aisha would not call Santana her girlfriend or partner anymore than Santana would call her her girlfriend. They were lovers, pure and simple, or, maybe more crudely, fuck buddies, but it is more than that. Once the initial awkwardness of that first night they slept together, in which they both acknowledge their attraction to each other, and Aisha admits that as she grows older, that she sees no point in playing the little adolescent, childish games of beating around the bush and flirting and playing up the sexual tension and then admit, after much slow edging, that she all she ever wanted was to fuck someone. The only reason it took this long, Aisha explains, is because they were both busy, and there had been no opportunity, such as this one, that presented itself in the past. The ring, Santana would later find out, is just pretense, a way to keep interested men and women at bay.<p>

Santana is surprised that she feels the same way, that she feels no need to play games at all. So yes, by definition they are just lovers, but it is more than just fucking the tension away after a whole day meeting listening to some harrowing story in Africa and Latin America about how gang members and rebels abduct and force 16 year old girls to be their girlfriends and wives and force the girls to have sex with everyone else in the gang or army, and listening to debates about how the UN should push for harsher punishments or sanctions for governments who refuse or are unable to do anything about these atrocities. It is also about just being able to do something on the weekend with someone – like fly to Johannesburg or Pretoria and go straight to the coast, or go on a safari in Kenya, or argue about whether hiking to Kilimanjaro is a good idea or not, and then fuck each other at night and then maybe discuss a bit about work or the day's news, or have dinner and try some exotic food that involves little, writhing creatures with wings, bathed in some unidentifiable sauce. Santana can already list the many ways in which Aisha is different. She doesn't give a damn about what others think, for one, and though they are as discreet as can be, pretending to the point of an Oscar-worthy performance that they are mere co-workers (it helps that they are in different offices and towards the end of the project, in different towns or cities or countries altogether), once they get together, she gets on top of Santana and in a few minutes is gasping and moaning and coming, sometimes in Santana's mouth. She doesn't make Santana sit through lectures about how they have to fuck with feelings, or that they're drifting apart, and she has no need to process anything between them. Which suits Santana fine. It is what it is. She had forgotten how good it is to just fuck someone without complications and emotions screwing things up. And once she got over how different Aisha is as a person and as a lover, she began to enjoy their little meetings, after all, Aisha did not require a relationship with her, and she sure as hell isn't ready to provide it.

These differences make their relationship very interesting.

For one, Aisha is the only person she is sleeping with who isn't involved in the Arts. Aisha majored in political science and governance in New York, with a masters in development, and she had devoted her whole life working with international organizations, culminating with UNIFEM, to make the world a better place for women. So this meant they never run out of discussions that were connected to women's rights, or, this is Aisha's favorite topic, left-wing parties, bourgeois sensibilities, discussing her amusement over forcing people to a higher dialectical level of political consciousness - a welcome break from usual conversations with Rachel. For another, while Aisha may like art and music and movies, books and TV shows, she isn't nearly as passionate and embarrassingly geeky about it as her late wife and ex-wife and any of her friends are. In fact, she cannot be bothered with it, as she has no time for movies and TV shows, finds most art pretentious or boring, and the only books she reads are histories, autobiographies and travel books, hence their decision to come to Maldives. For another, the sex with Aisha is different. There is none of that awkward, fumbling first time sex with Brittany, before Brittany had wanted to do it with feelings. And the sex with Brittany after they had decided to be a couple and especially after they got married, had a child and Brittany fell ill, had been, at best, careful and tender, especially towards the end, because mostly Santana hadn't wanted to hurt her. The intimacy with Rachel was a bit of the same, but with long intervals where they wouldn't have sex at all, because of that time when Rachel had lived in New York, and Santana and Suzie in California, and then Rachel had moved to London, and they had kids and the work had always took so much time out of their lives that they were just too exhausted sometimes to actually have sex. The sex, at most, towards the end, was pretty basic, because mostly they were too busy for anything else. And then the first signs of menopause kicked in and then Rachel's accident happened, and then the sex had to slow down and stop altogether.

But it is different with Aisha. They would do it in Aisha's apartment, or Santana's, and once they were sure no one could hear or see them, they would do it anywhere: in the kitchen, with Aisha on top of the counter, or in the living room, on the floor, or in the shower, or on the table, aside from the bed. Aisha particularly liked being on top, or giving and receiving head, and she especially liked being taken from behind, and taking Santana from behind. She liked experimenting, doing different positions and just having a plain old good time with Santana. She is never quiet, or still and always moaned and gasped and, now, because they are in Maldives in a private island beach resort, would be loud. At first, Santana had been overwhelmed, but as she got the hang of being with someone who liked a little adventure in the bedroom, she had started to enjoy it, too.

Last night was no exception.

Aisha stirs beside her, starts to move, pulls Santana closer. Before Santana can say anything, Aisha has rolled over on top of her, and without speaking, Aisha is making love to Santana, and within minutes Santana is wet and horny and Aisha is inside her, making her come...

* * *

><p>Rachel sits staring at the boxes of stuff half-opened in front of her, in her room. She'd received it a few days ago, and hadn't had the time, nor the courage to open them, but now, with her father feeling better and with her having some free time, she decides to go over them. After the divorce, and their belongings amicably settled and sorted out, she had received the stuff from Suzie and Blue, who had gone over their stuff together with Santana. The house in Brooklyn is sitting idle, and in the meantime, is being looked over by Suzie and Kate. She doesn't know what else has happened, except that now she's apparently newly divorced and that Santana seems to be nowhere to be found. She'd tried to talk to her, but even the kids were evasive and seemed and sounded a bit hurt. She doesn't blame them. Or any of their mutual friends really, starting with Quinn and Sam, both of whom seem to be giving her the cold shoulder as well. She'd seen Quinn once in the supermarket downtown Lima and had thrown looks at her as sharp as daggers. If looks could kill, she thinks. Thankfully, there have been no sightings of the apparent in-laws, all of which seem to have left the town and so the Lima Heights house sits silent, that one time Rachel had asked the cab to drive by the house even though it was nowhere near Birch Hill Road.<p>

A few things – notebooks of journals, diaries, a small flash drive, CDs and DVDs are on her bed, one journal open to a part where she has scribbled about the time she and Santana were raising Blue and she suspected that Blue might be hearing impaired.

She'd been reading off and on, her journals, and it feels surreal, to read herself, to imagine herself writing all this down. She had been reading the whole morning and finds herself fascinated with this woman, this woman who seems so different from her, so intelligent, so together, so sophisticated, so worldly and world-weary and so cosmopolitan, and yet so motherly and wifely, caring for a perpetually busy Santana and perpetually mischievous children. She is surprised that this Santana she describes in her journals is the same Santana she remembers from high school, the same Santana she had thought would never amount to anything, the same Santana she had rudely said would probably end up dancing with a pole. This same Santana, she reads, is now a successful workaholic of a lawyer who seems afraid to lose her job, afraid of letting down her family financial-wise, and seems to have worked herself to death in order to give the family everything. As she reads page after page of accounts of Santana working, and then about her own reaction to it, and her own thoughts about being insecure, especially when Blue was born and she'd taken time off from her career to raise Blue (and made sure, really, to be an active part of Suzie's life, too), both their reactions to finding out Blue is hearing-impaired, the counseling and going to the hearing doctor, how difficult it was to raise Blue until she found her calling in music and her reflections about her motivations for having a child (was she being just narcissistic? Self-absorbed? Self-centered?), the fights, the near divorce, the counseling, the times when she thought they couldn't make it. She had lingered on the accounts of when she had allegedly had an affair with Mark Norton, who, she is surprised to find out from the journals, is Suzie's biological father, the sperm donor. Her sixteen-year-old self immediately believes it is cheating, but the older one, the one writing the journals, knows it's more complicated than that, that she had been lonely and insecure and growing too old and finding herself feeling undesirable in an industry that valued youth and beauty. She reads about how Santana hadn't even noticed it, how she had been too busy to notice anything, until that fateful Thanksgiving night when she'd caught Mark kissing Rachel goodbye, outside their Brooklyn home. She reads about the results of the counseling, something Santana had only acquiesced to after much discussion with her friends and family and especially Rachel, who'd all convinced her to give the marriage counseling a chance at least. And she reads about her own feelings, about what she's given up for Santana, reducing her workload, saying no to projects that involved having to be away from her family, raising her kids, and so on. And she reads about Santana's feelings, her resentment towards Rachel's success, her work on Broadway, in Hollywood, her work in Brooklyn, the Foundation (MILF, which she still can't believe she didn't notice was a very queer name for an organization), the features, the documentary, the publicity, meeting the president, getting the professional validation and respect she had long ago craved for. She reads about how Santana had said goodbye to a career in singing, how she'd dreamed of dropping out in Louisville, out of undergrad and later law school, but there was Brittany to think of, and then, when they had Suzie, Suzie to think of, and when Brittany fell ill, the bills to think of, and then when Rachel and eventually Blue came along, she had had to work twice as hard, with a mortgage and bills and Blue on the way, and thinking about theirs and the children's future. She is surprised at this responsible side of Santana that she hadn't noticed in high school, but then, she only remembers everything before she graduates from high school, and it is frustrating not to remember how everyone, including Santana, had grown. It is frustrating to read all of this, from an older Rachel, from the same Rachel, and not be able to recall them, not be able to smile and nod and wax nostalgic about all they've been through. Mostly she feels ashamed – ashamed about how this Rachel in the journals had reacted, had cheated on Santana, after all she has given up for Rachel – all Rachel had thought the younger Santana was incapable of doing and she feels ashamed now about how she's treated this Santana, after she had taken care of her after the accident. All of these accounts – which she is nowhere near finished, as her older self seems to have processed her feelings about everything in detail – seem to paint a happy, healthy relationship, which, though it may have its ups and downs, still managed to pull through.

What she wonders, really, is how they even ended up together in the first place. She had tried to ask Quinn and the others, and they had answered with a curt, irritated, cold "No" and the kids and parents and in-laws don't either. The journals don't seem to have any accounts of it either.

What seems evident in these journal entries, she realizes, is how much older Rachel loved, _loves_, Santana, and how, apparently, Santana Lopez, resident mean girl of Lima High and all around bitch and bully, had loved and apparently still loves Rachel Berry, fiercely, as well.

Rachel thinks she could probably fall in love with this Santana, too, and she is surprised at how easily that comes to her, even though she still doesn't remember her post-high school life.

She has started to dream more and more about Santana though.

And just the other day, she'd suddenly remembered a detail about her and Santana, and it involved bowling in the Lima Bowling Alley, dancing, shooting baskets, skating at the frozen Lima lake, Santana walking her home, then leaning over and kissing her by the steps of their house, and then sneaking in later, into Rachel's house and making out later.

* * *

><p>Santana is exhausted.<p>

They've only been on the island a few days and she's already exhausted.

Maybe she's just getting old. _Older_.

They'd flown in from Mombasa, with a layover in Bombay, and onto to Male, welcomed by locals, led to a small plane, what they call an "air taxi", where they are the only passengers, flown to a lagoon of an island paradise, where a traditional dhoni fishing boat brings them to the Banyan Dali beach resort, and to a row of resort employees welcoming them with welcome cocktails. She'd been worried at first about the cost, but they'd found an island resort that offered luxury accommodations and amenities at a reasonable price. It wasn't as cheap as going to Cabo for spring break or for your wedding, but it was affordable. The resort boasted of exquisite Swiss Family Robinson-style wooden villas, an infinity pool and an exhausting schedule of meals, poolside yoga, massage, sunbathing, snorkelling and swimming through crystal clear waters with a variety of incredible marine life, with huge manta rays, whale sharks, green turtles and schools of dazzlingly kaleidoscopic fish populating the reefs. One of the employees at the resort had boasted that 'even our sharks are vegetarians.'" Vegetarians. Santana remembers Rachel. Rachel used to be vegan. Then she met Santana. Then she turned vegetarian. Then she started trying meat. And now she's just mostly vegetarian.

Days after their tours are spent drinking margaritas poolside, nights spent naked and sweating and writhing deep inside each other with their tongues and fingers.

It is, by all accounts, very beautiful. It is the most pristine place, made more enjoyable by the fact that unlike all of Africa, in which they have to pretend and hide their relationship, the islands, and in particular their resort, are only for tourists, the locals, all devoutly Muslim, live entirely separately on other islands, away from them, so that Aisha is much freer and more adventurous and decidedly and much more embarrassingly loud than is usual.

But a few days in Maldives and she already wants to go back to work.

Don't get her wrong.

She loves the place, loves her vacation, enjoys being with Aisha. And the sex is great. But at the same time, she swims and dives and snorkels and walks on the sands of the beach and all she can think of is her fucking ex-wife. She thinks of New York, how different it is compared to Africa, and Maldives. New York is congested by comparison, things moved too quickly, pressure and stress everywhere, everything seemed immensely tiring activities. But still, she finds herself missing New York. And then she thinks of New York and she finds herself thinking of her ex-wife. _Missing_ her ex-wife. _Fuck_, she thinks to herself. And yes, the sex is great, but sometimes, she finds herself thinking of Rachel instead, Rachel on top of her, Rachel inside her. Rachel smiling. Rachel's chocolate brown eyes. Rachel's body. Her Rachel. Rachel, Rachel, _Rachel_. Fuck, fuck,_ fuck._

Alone, without Aisha, Aisha off to look at something or other – they don't necessarily do things together, there are some other things that interest Aisha, and sometimes, when they are not having sex, they go off alone on their separate ways, she finds herself taking a walk on the beach and she thinks about her ex-wife.

She wouldn't have actually impulsively slept with that French woman, Clemence and then Aisha, if she had not, whilst chatting with her children Blue and Suzie on facebook, gone over Rachel's profile page on a whim. She sees pictures then. Pictures, lots of them, new ones, of her new life in Lima. Of Rachel's parents' house, Rachel's room, and it seemed odd, to see things she recognized, that hideous high school portrait of Rachel's, now having come home to Rachel's parents' basement, Oscar and Tony trophies, and so on. And then, in the middle of it all, Rachel's photos. Rachel's glamor photos – publicity photos, in black and white and sepia and colored, in diffuse light and photoshopped, in casual and formal, in plunging necklines and in skirts and tank tops and jeans, all smiling, looking all gorgeous and unattainable and recently divorced. Rachel looked good. She'd gained weight. She looked beautiful. Breathtakingly so. She looked stunning. But there was no alchemy to it. Just casually, elegantly, simply stunning.

Pictures of people...who was Rachel dating now? Fuck. She didn't want to know. She wanted to know.

An irritation takes hold of Santana – well, to hell with Rachel.

Santana hated Rachel. But hate was good, wasn't it. Hate was an emotion and without emotion, what else was left?

Rachel. _You don't control that part of your life anymore_, _Santana, _she thinks. But then, what part did she control? Only her work gave meaning to her life now. Santana got to where she was now by sheer hard work.

Fuck her. She wouldn't bother her anymore. She had more important things to do. Flights to catch. Books to read. Notes to make. A busy day ahead. Women to pick up and _fuck_.

Wasn't it better to look forward, rather than the past?

Did she and Rachel eventually just got tired of everything, including each other? So tired Rachel couldn't remember anything at all?

What Santana needed was a new set of rules.

Relationships were much like psychology – much of it guesswork, a game, where some pieces were missing and nobody knows the rules. Sometimes you ended up playing a different game than when you started. That's why she'd gone into law – it was the only thing that made sense, in the end.

Resentment. That's what it was.

She felt ashamed.

She had been feeling depressed, and so she had been rash.

Why had she agreed to the divorce she wonders...Then she realizes: she's older, and she doesn't see anymore, the point in things, the slow edging towards a moment when you realize you needed to either take the plunge or let go.

Now, standing in the middle of the beach, sun beating down on her, she finds herself thinking, Why is she here? It had all seemed to make sense, seemed logical, when first she'd decided to sleep with that red-haired girl, then with Aisha. But now, it didn't.

She was scared.

Scared of being alone. Scared of being undesirable. Scared she was too old for the game. Scared of getting old. She felt old. _Too_ old.

Her kids don't know about the one-night stand, or about Aisha, all of them doing polite chit chat. Everything to say. Nothing to say. She looks at Blue and she remembers Rachel because she doesn't look anything like Rachel but she is so much like Rachel like she looks so much like Santana and she is reminded that she used to be married and she had a family with this woman and she all she wants to do after is fuck the pain away.

* * *

><p>Rachel can't sleep.<p>

She is tossing and turning and finding herself staring at the ceiling or at the wall, and driving herself crazy with the sound of the ticking of the clock, and the regular hum of the refrigerator and the occasional roar of an engine outside and the darkness itself, that she finds herself throwing the blanket aside, grabbing her journals and reading again.

She had dreamed again.

And then earlier today, lying on the couch, with the remote on her stomach, she had dozed off. She'd woken up to see a reality show, she doesn't remember now, but it was about a single man and a lot of women and the man had to choose which woman to hook up with and there were lots of heart motifs, animated hearts, heart chairs, heart wallpaper on the bedroom walls, heart throw pillows, heart-inspired kitchen ware and clothes – she thinks it's a rerun of an old Valentine episode and then she sees the man bending on one knee, and a ring being offered, and music being cued in, and she wants to roll her eyes but then something stops her.

It felt like a rush of wind, a burst of memories all at once, rushing towards her, and she has to grip the arm rest to steady herself, feels dizzy, feels like she will throw up.

The hearts. The hearts. So many of them. She closes her eyes. Feels a headache coming on. Feels the world spin. The hearts. The heart. On a ring. A silver one. Glinting against cold sunlight. In a basement. A face, beautiful dark eyes, a smile being offered, someone telling her "I love you" and she closes her eyes tight, to see the face better, and it is Santana. Santana proposing to her, with a ring, a ring with a heart held by hands, she's seen it before.

She goes back to the boxes, in her room, rummages through them, before she sees it, a small, velvet box beneath everything else, and, with heart thumping, she opens it, and it reveals a silver ring, much like the one in her memory, a ring with a heart on it held by hands.

Her heart continues to beat so wildly against her chest, she feels like she might burst.

She finds herself slump down on the floor of her room, feeling faint and weak, her knees all rubbery, her hands clammy.

And she finds herself whispering, "Oh, Santana."

That night she dreams of the night Santana proposed. They'd made love that night. And her eyes fly open and she cannot sleep and she decides to read more of her journal.

She's afraid of what she might find out next.

* * *

><p>Temporary blindness, that's what it was. <em>Is<em>.

She should go to a counselor, she knows. But she can't be bothered really.

Temporary blindness - shutting it all out – to acknowledge it is to realize the monotony, the pain, the futility, the claustrophobia, the sheer agony of it all. She had closed off her mind, refusing to believe all of these things had happened to her, in the end, but here, in the emptiness and peacefulness of an exquisite island, all she can think of is Rachel. She cannot be married to a woman for at least three decades and easily forget her. She's in her system, in her blood, in her mind, in her heart, in her fucking _soul_. And try as she might, she cannot forget her.

It's the love. It is Rachel. The one person she holds dear above everything and everyone else. And it is ripped away from her and there is nothing she can do about it. And it's about loss, too. And about losing Rachel. And how fucked up she is because of it. And how much she is hurting. And how hard it is to try to move past it. But the loss only stings because of the love. Santana feels like she's been left behind, abandoned, but more than that, she isn't just divorced, she is shattered.

She feels a surge of confusing emotions boil beneath the surface and she feels like crying.

* * *

><p>There was a wedding.<p>

And a song.

And even as Rachel reads it, she knows it to be true.

She sees flashes of it in her mind.

City Hall. In the cold. In front of an official, the mayor, she thinks. Pizza, she thinks, after. Some singing. Chantal Kreviazuk? Why does she remember this?

There was another one, she is sure of it.

A surprise wedding. Here, in Lima.

She'd dreamed about it, too. She'd dreamed about it a few days after she'd let the cab drive through Lima Heights Adjacent, despite the protests of the driver. She'd heard about Lima Adjacent Often enough. It was a nice two-story affair, with a front yard and large backyard, and trees. It seemed so empty and lonely then when the cab had driven by, but in her dreams, it was filled with people, in gowns and tuxes, and people doing a flash mob, to a Supremes song being sung by Quinn, "Come See About Me" and another, this time with her kids, her students! She remembers flashes of them, she used to teach, she thinks. She isn't sure,but she used to teach. And her students, they sang, "You're Just Too Good to be True". And there was a ceremony. Wineglass being stamped on. Two ministers. Sam and Carlos giggling all the while, much dancing and singing and speeches – she sees Suzie – Suzie making a speech.

There is a drawing. A drawing of a boa constrictor eating an elephant. Baobab trees. A garden of flowers. A lone rose in a glass. A little golden-haired boy crying in a field of roses. And starfish. Starfish and lemons. Something about when life gives you lemons. And starfish, a boy and an old man and starfish. The starfish seems important somehow. Something about making a difference and starfish.

Now why did she remember that?

* * *

><p>Santana feels it then.<p>

How unhappy she feels.

How fucking _lonely_.

But Rachel would have quite rightly moved on.

And so should she.

She sees a tall, lithe figure in a bathing suit and sari covering part of her hips and legs, making her way towards Santana.

Santana pushes her thoughts and feelings down, musters up a smile and waves at Aisha.

Aisha waves back.

She waits as Aisha gets to her and when she does, she slowly smiles, wolfishly and says, "Alright, love?" When Santana nods yes, Aisha grins and asks, "So, it's been hours...fancy a quick roll in the hay then?"

* * *

><p>She puts the journal down, feeling a headache come on.<p>

It is night time and it is late and it is dark outside, and everyone is asleep, but she cannot seem to sleep herself, try as she might. She's been reading and looking at pictures, and reading some more. She is fascinated, right now, at the diaries she's kept over the years. Rachel had written everything down, business lunches, dinner parties, cost and method of payment, people present, topics discussed, promising people noted, weekend in the country (times and trains), Broadway shows, the cost of each ticket, even cab fares - everything meticulously written down - no doubt for tax minimization purposes. There are also, scrawled in her neat handwriting, times and dates of PTA meetings, doctor's and dentists appointments for her, Santana, Suzie and Blue, recitals and concerts and parent-teacher conferences, notes for bake sales, meetings, shoots, interviews, and so on. There are also receipts, hundreds of them, arranged just as meticulously, from Bloomingdales, Macy's, the corner grocery store, some place called Luigi's Restaurant and other places. She studies the receipts, and realizes it is a veritable catalog of her family life with Santana, Suzie and Blue: ketchup, maple syrup, strawberry jam, cereals. There are always fruits and vegetables, milk and bread, always cans of tuna fish and sardines, boxes of spaghetti and egg noodles, Campbell's noodles, cans of beer and bottles of champagne and other purchases besides. Looking at these receipts give her an idea about the domestic life she had with her family and she finds herself nodding in approval - older Rachel knew how to be a wife. What's more, older Rachel knew how to be a mother. She finds some comfort and inexplicably, pride in all that these reveal about her.

But the pictures, right now, fascinate her.

So many pictures. So many. Pictures of a younger her holding Suzie, both smiling at the camera, family pictures of Santana, Rachel and Suzie at The Met, at the zoo, at the park, beneath cherry trees, at the Statue of Liberty, eating corn dogs, wearing Statue of Liberty hats, hanging out at Madison Square Garden, Disneyland, Universal Studios and Seaworld. There are photos of them in winter, spring, summer and fall. Photos of them making snowmen, playing with snowballs, making snow angels, sledding down snowy slopes, skating on an ice rink, photos of them in swimsuits, by the swimming pool, or lying on the sand, on the beach, under umbrellas, eating ice cream and making sandcastles. There are photos of them enjoying the park, the leaves on the trees having turned every shade of brown, Suzie playing in the leaves, her and Suzie feeding pigeons in the park, photos of Santana lifting Suzie as she tries to shoot a ball through a hoop, everyone else looking on. And then photos with Blue. Rachel pregnant with Blue, Rachel by the morning light of the window, in a dress, holding her pregnant belly, Santana holding her from behind, both looking so happy and at peace, Rachel and Santana in the hospital, with baby Blue, pictures of Blue growing up, Blue as a toddler, Blue as a child, Blue as a prepubescent at Omega, Blue and Suzie playing, Blue playing with the piano, Blue, Suzie and Rachel having fun, family photos of the four of them in the park, in the house, with the in-laws on both sides, with friends, birthday parties and Fourth of July parties, fireworks and food and Christmas and New Year and Thanksgiving dinners with their families, much laughter and joy on everyone's faces. There are intimate photos of her and Santana as well, photos of them in the sunset, photos of them in the park, photos of Santana kissing her on the cheek, candid photos of her and Santana, Santana kissing her on the lips, Santana looking at her with such adoration on her face, with such happiness, a photo of them, Rachel holding Santana's face, as if brushing away some dirt, Santana tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The photos almost make her see the actual images in her mind, almost make her remember, she can remember the sun and sand on her skin, the cold, snowflakes on her tongue, on her cheeks, and Santana brushing them away, Santana holding her hand, Santana holding her, Santana kissing her, the sunset behind them, Santana kissing her, in front of the Fourth of July fireworks, Santana just being there all the time. She shakes her head, closes her eyes. Too much. Too much. Too overwhelming.

She grabs a box and rummages through it.

She sees it.

A picture of her, on the beach, in a dress, with a child in overalls, holding a pail, the sun setting behind them, the ocean breeze blowing through her dress.

She remembers this.

Why does she remember this?

She remembers Santana standing a few yards away.

Remembers Santana having taken this photograph.

Strangely, she knows she's supposed to have this photo as a favorite.

She knows it's supposed to be Santana's favorite, too.

What is she going to do?

* * *

><p>The time goes by fast.<p>

After a week, Santana and Aisha are already catching a flight back to work, going to Paris by way of Dubai.

It is an exhausting flight and both are too tired and jetlagged to do anything else but sleep when they arrive in Paris.

They have a series of meetings to attend, before they go to Switzerland, then London, and back to New York.

Santana sleeps like a log and wakes up in her Paris hotel room with the right side of the bed empty, and a hastily written note from Aisha – she is needed for some meeting or other and will be catching a flight back to New York quickly.

They would continue their pretty strictly friends-with-benefits sexual relationship, sleeping with each other a few more times, and they both enjoy it, but they both already know it wouldn't go any further than that.

She lies in her hotel room and finds herself feeling exceedingly lonely.

Sex is just that. Sex. Just fucking really.

And love is love.

And she is not entirely surprised that she finds herself thinking of Rachel.

Then she has a text and it is Aisha, telling her she's gotten to the airport, instructing Santana to get some breakfast and that she'll see her soon and Santana can't help but smile.

* * *

><p>Rachel pushes a cart down the vegetable produce aisle of the local supermarket.<p>

The overhead fluorescent lights are harsh, the tiled floors clean and antiseptic, the vegetables not at all organic and the meat not at all free range, the local supermarket staff bored and not at all helpful but she has to cook dinner and they've run out of vegan milk and bread, and so she finds herself here going over the produce.

She'd met Jesse St. James here once, and they had gotten to chatting, catching up on what they were doing, although since she cannot remember most of what happened post-high school, Jesse was more than happy to supply the missing details. He is consultant now for Vocal Adrenaline and a few other clubs up and down the state, after finding that New York was not really for him. Jesse had ended up offering to drive her home, and turning into the driveway and killing the engine, they'd ended up making out. Or rather, Jesse had leaned over, on the pretense of kissing her goodnight, but had grabbed her instead and started kissing her instead. It had been so sudden, so abrupt, she'd flinched and tried to move away, so that she'd bumped the back of her head against the glass. She feels a slight twinge of pain. Jesse doesn't apologize as his hand grabs hold of Rachel's head, his lips assaulting Rachel's. A long ago memory, of them making out, on her bed, in her bedroom, and her saying wouldn't it be better if they'd done it with feelings? And Jesse had gotten so angry then and had stalked off, slamming the door and refusing to talk to her for days. Another memory – Jesse throwing eggs at her. Jesse and his team TP-ing their auditorium, and the choir room. And Jesse now as then, not even asking permission, as his hand snakes into her skirt, his hand warm and predatory against her thigh. And a flash of another memory – Santana, Santana flushed and swaying and visibly drunk, in her room, in her Brooklyn loft, giggling and helping her up and asking her if she was okay. Herself, also drunk. She'd almost slipped, Santana had grabbed for her then. She remembers Santana's arms on her, feels the pressure, the worried look on Santana's face, "Are you okay?" concern, tenderness, nothing like what Jesse is doing then. Santana had asked her then if she was too drunk to give consent. Santana had leaned over, kissed her then. She remembers clothes, clothes being removed, much giggling, Santana whispering again "Is this okay?" Rachel just shaking her head, saying, "Shut up". More giggling, then gasps and moans and Rachel whispering "Santana" as she came. The world spinning. The boyfriend pillow. Santana holding her after, holding her tight as they fell asleep. How long ago was that?

And then, an anger surges through her. Santana had asked. Had asked her first before they did it. And Jesse, dear old, jerk that he is, was taking advantage of a woman with amnesia, thinks nothing of going in, as if nothing had happened in the past.

She'd pushed Jesse away then. Had been so upset. So angry. "You used to throw eggs at me!" she manages to shout, as she opens the car door, steps out, grabs the groceries in the back, and stamps off.

Santana.

That was one of the first real memories that had come to her.

She had not talked to Jesse since.

* * *

><p>She remembers this now as she slowly wheels the cart down the aisle.<p>

This place seems familiar somehow. Significant. Like she's supposed to remember something. Like this place changed her life.

But for the life of her she doesn't remember.

But then, on the other aisle, a few yards off, a girlish giggle, a raspy voice, and all she can think of it sounds like Suzie and Santana.

And then she stops. Grips the cart's handle in her hands.

She looks around.

This is the exact place.

The first time she'd met Santana again, after all those years. Santana and Suzie. Winter. December. Just before Christmas. Suzie had asked her if she was single. Santana had been her distant, snarky, bitter self. She'd called her a hobbit. Or was that Suzie calling her a hobbit? Suzie had wanted her to go out with Santana. Santana had blushed. She remembers how adorable Santana had looked, flustered and embarrassed in front of her daughter, and Rachel. Meeting Santana's family for the first time. The reunion. Walking to Mr. Schuester's house, as it snowed. Santana outside, on the swings, at the back of Mr. Schuester's house, staring out into nothing. Rachel putting a coat on Santana's shoulder. Talking to Santana. Santana looked beautiful then. Beautiful and vulnerable. There had been something in her eyes then. Something Rachel hadn't noticed before. A look Rachel had, once, years before, when they'd first hooked up. Santana would have been a fool not to notice Rachel felt something for her...Rachel never slept with anyone without feelings. Santana would know that. But Santana hadn't. Hadn't noticed anything. Hadn't felt anything. Hadn't even talked to her, or kept in touch with her. She'd chosen Brittany. But Brittany had been gone by then. Gone for years. Rachel had liked Santana. Had never stopped liking her. And that like had turned to care and then, eventually love. A cascade of love that people had joked was an unstoppable force. All immovable objects had to get out of the way...

She stops. One thing had led to another then, that night and...

A sharp intake of breath.

Memories of Santana. Santana in her room. Santana in her arms. Santana's lips on hers. On her skin. Santana's fingers sliding lower, and lower.

Rachel flushes. She remembers exactly what she and Santana had done.

Her heart starts pounding, hard against her chest.

Santana. _Her_ Santana.

Santana had always been hers.

She had always been Santana's. Always.

She has to find Santana.

She has to talk to Santana.

She thinks now she's made a mistake with the divorce.

But would it be too late already?

Is Santana lost to her?

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to SllnaaEsh, frustratedwriter13, Nightingale11 , guest and especially pictureofsuccess and kutee for the reviews. Straight up, haven't had a decent sleep in ages, am hopped up on caffeine so this is the end result. Hope you like anyways. Cheers._**


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel vaguely remembers a time in physics class, when her teacher said that the displacement of atoms meant that the existence of anything affected the existence of everything.

She is surprised that this is what she remembers now as she grips the handle of her pushcart so hard her knuckles are turning white from the effort. As she stands there rooted to the spot, it feels a bit like she is in a waking dream, the grocery store, the people, the music, the noise, the lights fading, and recurring images, now clearer as she stands there, come, unbidden into her consciousness: The first night she slept with Santana. Their first date. Santana proposing to her. Their weddings. Happy memories. Memories that connected herself with the intimacy she shared with Santana. Finding out she was pregnant with Blue – the happiness and terror and confusion and anxiety that that brought on her, terrified about how Santana would react, terrified she wouldn't be a good mother, memories with Blue and Suzie and Santana. But there were fragments of other memories as well – unhappy memories, losing her job at Taft, the ones were she and Santana had fought, finding out Blue was hearing-impaired, Mark Norton, their near divorce, Santana meeting her at the bridge...

The memories keep coming, and as she will soon find out, they will keep coming as a barrage of images and sensations in the next coming weeks. The doctor, the one in New York, had rightly surmised to her that the memories she would most probably recover first where the ones that would hold strong emotional connection to her, the ones that elicited such strong emotions.

Displacement of atoms. The existence of anything affecting the existence of everything. She sees it clearly now, standing here, in the middle of this aisle – how the existence of the frozen goods section had triggered something in her, how the vegetable and fruit section had done the same, how this particular specific aisle had seemed to have switched something on in her – Santana, Santana's smiling face, Suzie, meeting her for the first time again after years of not having seen her. And then she remembers how having met Santana years ago, having been in the same town as her, having been in the same school and club as her, had irrevocably changed her, affected her. And then she remembers how had it not been for that strange, disastrous semi-, quasi-break-up Santana had with Brittany over some dubious energy exchange with a girl first time she left Lima for Kentucky, and her irresistible need to figure out what her purpose in life and the universe was, coinciding, coincidentally, with Rachel's own New York, post-adolescent, post-Finn, post-Lima crisis, that they wouldn't even reconnect again. It was meant to be just the one time – it would have been only the one time, Santana had gone back to win Brittany back and so Rachel, after tears shed, had gone on with her own life. Years later, Brittany all but gone, a mere memory, Suzie the only reminder of her, Santana and Rachel both older but not necessarily wiser, they meet again and the rest is history. Time and again, as she remembers more bits and pieces of her life, she is convinced that what her teacher has said is true - Santana, for better or worse, has affected her existence and had changed it forever.

Blue had started calling her – it had begun with emails, then text messages, then calls during Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year, always patiently just talking to Rachel even if Blue knew Rachel did not really remember her at all at first. Blue never gave up on her. It was Blue who sent her the boxes of her diaries, pictures, videos, mementos, hoping these could help her remember, Blue who kept calling and calling her, never giving up on her, Blue who refused to have the house sold, making sure the house stays unsold for however long it takes for Rachel to regain her memory.

Suzie had started calling after then, then Kate and the kids, Beans and Cody, and that Christmas Eve, with everyone calling her, Rachel remembers tears on her face, even if she doesn't remember any of them that clearly. She does remember a surge of affection for them, a sense of belongingness, as if she belonged to them, and they to her, but it feels like there is a deep chasm that has opened up between them and her, and she does not know how to bridge it. She does not know how to close that gap that's opened between her and the children and grandchildren.

Her parents have gone to Florida for the winter, at her insistence. Her father Leroy had been granted a reprieve from his illness, and since he wanted to spend Christmas in a place that was a bit warmer, she'd insisted they go to Florida for the holidays, spend time alone together and they'd grudgingly acquiesced. Rachel had assured them she would be fine spending Christmas alone, for what seems like the first time in so many years, but if truth be told, she really doesn't know how to deal with people now that she has some, if not most, of her memories back.

Coupled with the fact that Blue has told her Santana has left for Africa for an indefinite period of time, Rachel feels inexplicably lonely. So, so lonely.

She's finding that Lima, Ohio is full of memories of Santana. Everything reminds her of Santana. She passes by Breadstix, and she remembers Santana. She passes by the bowling alley and she remembers their first date. She passes by the video game arcade and she remembers how Santana had taken her there next. She sees the frozen lake on her way home and she remembers how Santana had taken her skating there. A few yards away, she sees the hill where she and Santana had taken the kids sledding. She sees Quinn's house and she remembers how Santana had proposed to her then. She sees the Lopez house over at Lima Heights and she remembers the many, many days and nights they'd spent there when they had the chance – Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year and summers. She is tempted to knock on the Lopez house, but all through the winter, she had not seen anyone there, and she doesn't feel she would be welcome there when she'd just divorced Santana.

And so she finds herself here. She finds herself coming back to this grocery store, where she and Santana had met again after all those years. She finds comfort in the aisles. She seems to be able to remember more, wheeling the cart down the aisles – she remembers Santana's predilection for coffee and other unhealthy beverages, meat products, junk food, her aversion to tofu, non-fat dairy, and other healthy products. She remembers how Santana used to roll her eyes, remembers the million and one arguments they had between the aisles, right down to what movie to watch or what music to listen to in the car. There's something comforting about remembering all this about Santana, something comforting about remembering Santana.

But then, there is a fear that builds as well, an unfamiliar fear that comes with the realization that she still loves Santana, and that they are now, through forces beyond anyone's ken, inexplicably divorced. There is a sadness that descends on her.

All she could think of is how she wishes Santana is here to hold her now .

Santana was always there for her.

She suddenly misses Santana.

She realizes she still loves Santana.

Will she ever get Santana back, she wonders.

She sighs.

She grips the handle of the cart. Her cart is full of ridiculous things – things she doesn't even actually need, coffee, bacon, ham, spaghetti, taco shells, wheat bread, chili sauce, and a whole bunch of items that she realizes aren't really hers, but Santana's, stuff that Santana likes. She laughs a little to herself. This is ridiculous, she thinks. A complete waste of money.

She is looking down at the cart as she pushes it down the aisle, completey forgetting that she might bump into other shoppers. But it is after the holiday rush, and people are too busy being somehwere else to be here, plus it is late at night, close to closing time, snow falling outside, the cold northern winter keeping everyone from shopping this late. There are so few other shoppers, now entertained by a Mariah Carey Christmas song, that the grocery store is virtually empty, save for the clerks.

So she is surprised when she pushes the cart and it bumps into someone and there is an angry yelp.

"I'm so sorry," she automatically says quickly, pulling the cart away and looking up to make sure the other person is unharmed.

"Watch where you're going..."

Rachel is about to say something when she stops as she looks up, even as the other person stops as well, whatever angry thing the other person is about to say lost in the suprise registering on her face.

Rachel is so surprised she is afraid to speak. She can hear her heart beat so fast against her rib cage she is sure the other person can hear it. She thinks she is dreaming, or she has hit her head and is just imagining things. She's so afraid this might actually be an illusion that she doesn't say anything for what seems like forever, afraid this illusion might disappear. But the other person is staring back and there is the reality of this grocery store, and the Mariah Carey song playing overhead, and the few people passing by, and the bright fluorescent lights overhead. But the illusion, or apparition, or whatever it is, is not moving, or not going anywhere, and not even speaking.

So Rachel swallows hard and says, voice breaking, "Santana...?"

* * *

><p>Santana stares at Rachel, not believing her own eyes.<p>

When Santana emerges from the Lima train station and into empty, snow-laden streets of her hometown, it seems to her as if she were returning to America after an absence of years. She feels a relief verging on joy at being back, but at the same time, she feels so cut off and isolated from the other human beings. She feels exhausted. She feels like she is living in a vacuum. People feel like strangers, people she can no longer connect to. She's always felt that in New York, where New Yorkers live over, under and all around each other, take extraordinary pains to avoid intimacy with their neighbors, to avoid meeting or speaking to them, but she's never felt that in Lima before. Have people always been strangers to each other anywhere?

She had paused outside the doors, unsure of what to do. The train station is virtually empty. In the distance, beyond the endless stream of cabs and people and the flurry of snow, she can see shivering loitering adolescents, bag ladies. An old man stinking of urine bumps into her and mutters his apology. She nods absently. She is thankful she has beaten the blizzard threatening to descend on Ohio.

She is a seasoned traveler now.

She feels old and weary somehow.

She knows she's supposed to feel glad she's back in Ohio and yet all she feels is despair, the void, the absence of emotion. She is nothingness, drifting ever nearer to death, ever fumbling toward the inevitable decimation of everything she has ever loved. Travel mimics death, she remembers reading somewhere. Now that she is here, on a mission to see if she could make Rachel remember once and for all, she wonders if she will succeed. Reunions, after all, are a question of faith.

As she looks at this town she hasn't seen in months, it strikes her as odd and at the same time familiar that snow still blanketed the city, that it showed no signs of abating, or melting, that sludge still accumulated in the gutters, that it is still cold even though it is supposed to be spring. She pulls her coat towards herself, grips her luggage tighter, wondering what she is supposed to do next.

It is ridiculous, she thinks, finding herself here, right now, in Lima, where her ex-wife is currently ensconced. But there were emails from Blue, and Suzie, and Quinn, and Kurt, and her parents, and, strangely enough, her former in-laws, Rachel's parents. They weren't the cryptic, ominous kind, but most of them kept in touch with her, while she was away, but while she thought she could forget Rachel if she left the country, having her family and Rachel's, keep in touch with her, has proven that that was harder to do than she thought. And Blue – well, Blue had given her a point-by-point detailed account of what went on with Rachel's life now, and had, on more than one occasion, urged Santana to at least visit Rachel, because she was concerned about Rachel and her parents and she thought maybe Santana, more than anything, could help Rachel to remember.

She hadn't known til she found herself on a train bound for Lima and it is by pure accident that she finds herself now in the same grocery store where she had seen Rachel years before. Whatever. The Lopez house was currently empty – her parents off on a holiday cruise, Carlos and his son hanging out in Florida with Suzie and Kate and the kids and Blue, and she thinks she needs to buy some food before she goes home to Lima Heights. She is looking for some easily microwaveable food in the next aisle when someone's cart bumps into her knee.

She hears the rapid, high-pitched, distinctively familiar voice first.

Her heart leaps in recognition. Whatever angry retort she has dies in her throat.

She looks up, heart pounding, knee aching, hands suddenly clammy and there, standing right infront of her, in, of all places, the beverage section, is Rachel Berry.

Rachel.

The sound, the thought of, the very sight of Rachel set off something different in her. It is curious, Santana thinks, how Rachel can make the world seem to fade away when she is around, how she makes other people, other things,_ insubstantial _somehow, just by her mere presence. Right now, all Santana can think of is her, all she can think of is Rachel filling up her senses, making her forget everything else that has happened but her.

So many months away from Rachel and just the mere sight of her stirs something inside her. There is an elusive quality to whatever arrangement she had with Aisha, but there never was anything elusive with what she had with Rachel. Rachel was always there, always present, always by her side. There was always something real with what they had.

Rachel - the girl she loved endlessly – past all reason.

What was she doing, standing here?

She stands there, in front of Rachel, not knowing what to say.

She is not at all entirely surprised when Rachel stands equally as speechless in front of her, too.

* * *

><p>"Santana...what...what are you doing here?" Rachel stammers. She mentally kicks herself for sounding so lame. This is what she wanted – to see Santana again, and yet, here she is, asking her a lame question.<p>

Santana must sense that, because there's a familiar smirk on her lips, an eyebrow is raised, and she puts one hand on her hip, "I'm about to buy groceries. Isn't that what people do in grocery stores?"

Rachel nods impatiently, "Yes, yes, I know, but...what are you doing here?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "I live here. Or I used to live here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm..." Rachel hesitates, looking down at the stuff she's put in her cart and ends lamely with, "Doing my groceries."

"Preparing for the blizzard, I see," Santana comments, taking a look at her cart. "But I'm pretty sure you don't drink coffee. Or eat ham...or bacon...not unless you can help it. Or when I'm around..."

"I..." Rachel stops, smiles, cocks her head. Santana looks good. Gorgeous. Like she always had, like she always does. "Yeah. I kind of remembered that. Although I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be drinking coffee or eating bacon anymore. Doctor's orders, remember?"

Santana nods. "Right. Got some company over?"

It takes Rachel a second to realize what Santana is asking and another second to notice the jealous look that passes briefly over Santana's eyes. She shakes her head. "No. Not really. I...I don't even know why I have this stuff. I don't drink coffee. Or eat bacon..."

There is an awkward silence that descends over them before Rachel says, "What are you _really _doing here, Santana?"

Santana speaks at the same time, asking Rachel, "I wanted to see you."

They both stop, looking awkwardly at each other.

"Do you want to get some coffee and some food or something?" Santana smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I just got off a really hellish flight and I came right over here and airline food is crap, as you know, and train food is equally crap and I'm hungry as hell and..."

Rachel's face softens. It doesn't escape her notice that Santana's family is away, and that other than Santana's family or Rachel, there is no other reason why Santana would be back in Lima. Rachel feels touched by this, by Santana wanting to see her. "You came all the way here straight from the airport?" Rachel asks gently, resisting the urge to step forward and engulf Santana in an embrace.

Santana nods, blushing. "Yeah. I'd have taken the next flight out, but I wouldn't have gotten one without getting detained by airport security...right after I kind of...verbally abused airport personnel for their crap service and..."

"So you took the train?"

Santana nods again. "Yeah."

There is another awkward silence.

Santana swallows, stares at something down. "I'm...I'm sorry..."

"About what...?"

Santana lifts one shoulder. "About...everything."

Rachel looks at her, before she says, "I'm sorry, too."

Santana shakes her head, unable to look at Rachel. "You shouldn't be. I shouldn't have left you...I should have been there...I shouldn't have hurt you like that...I should have..."

"It's not your fault."

Santana sighs. "It is, kind of. I..."

Rachel takes a step forward, hesitates, before she puts a hand on Santana's arm, "It was nobody's fault, Santana. Don't beat yourself up too much over it. It could have happened to anyone."

Santana stares at Rachel's hand on her arm, feels a jolt run through her. Rachel is running her hand up and down Santana's arm absently, before she notices Santana looking at her hand. Rachel stops and she reluctantly pulls her hand away from Santana, but Santana quickly but gently catches hold of Rachel's hand then and looks up, smiling, as if asking permission.

There is a silence that descends on them again. Rachel breaks the silence.

"So...coffee?"

Santana grins. "God yes, please."

Rachel grins back, squeezes Santana's hand. "I know a great place."

"I'm sure you do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Apologies for the delay. Much thanks to pictureofsuccess for the help with this one. Cheers!**_


	9. Chapter 9

Santana wakes up not knowing where she is.

At first she thinks she is at home, in New York, but one look out the window, at a snow-filled, bleak landscape and she's pretty sure she isn't in New York. She then thinks maybe she's in her old room, in Lima Heights, but the room is too bright and pink for that, and as far as she can remember, she doesn't have a four-poster bed or pink curtains and bedsheets.

But what really makes her realize that she isn't in her room is the other woman who's head is resting on her chest, the other woman's arm lying across Santana's stomach, sleeping peacefully beside Santana.

Santana needs to do a double take before she realizes it is Rachel, sleeping beside her, Santana's arm around her. She blinks once, twice, against the brightness of the room and the light of the morning outside. She glances at the clock beside the bed and realizes it's not morning at all, but afternoon. She is confused by the time, and vaguely remembers having been on a plane and on a train and having stumbled through rough snowy weather to find Rachel in Lima. Everyting else seems to be a blur. She thinks her body is still on European time. She shifts a bit, trying not to wake Rachel up. While she is thrilled she is back here, with Rachel in her arms, she mentally wracks her brain as to how they ended up here.

They had dinner, that much she remembers. She already had a headache coming on, and the exhaustion was killing her. It was Breadstix, she remembers. She had fettuccini, Rachel had salad. The dinner was punctuated with a lot of pauses and awkward silences, hesitations and stammers, nervous laughter and sheepish smiles, even as the snow outside deepened and the restaurant emptied out, the conversation slowly inching its way through what each one had been doing, Santana telling her about her work in Africa, Rachel telling her about taking care of her father, recovering after the accident, each one carefully choosing the topics, skirting the issue of their own separation and the fight that started it all.

When closing time came around, they are surprised that they had been talking in the restaurant for a long time. What Santana realizes is she has missed Rachel. Missed talking to Rachel, swapping stories of work, missed the way Rachel leaned over, face intent, listening with her whole body, as she asks questions about Santana's work. She has missed the other little things about Rachel, too – the little mannerisms Santana had all but forgotten, the way she cocks her head to one side, the way she rests her cheek on one palm, the way she nods as she listens to Santana. Rachel had always been a good listener, Santana thinks.

She isn't sure exactly how they end up at the Berry house, but she vaguely remembers Rachel suggesting they head to the house, because Lima Heights was a bit farther off, and with the snow getting stronger, and the night getting deeper, it seemed much more convenient to just go to the Berry house instead.

The house itself hadn't changed since the last time Santana had been there. Santana didn't actually stay often at the Berry house, especially right before Blue was born, choosing instead to stay at the Lopez house. But she'd been at the house enough to know that the house hadn't changed. Rachel had told her the Berrys had gone on vacation and so Rachel was staying at the house all alone.

Santana had been too tired for further conversation and had asked Rachel if she could just crash for the night. Rachel had given her extra blankets and pillows and directed her towards the guest room on the second floor, just a few doors down from where Rachel's room was.

She'd lain on the bed then, finding herself unable to sleep, wondering why she had gone back to Lima instead of going home to Brooklyn – the house hadn't been sold and she knew Blue and Suzie took really good care of it. But something, call it instinct, instuition, a gut feeling, had told her to go back to Lima, to see Rachel, one last time, before she decided on what she would do next. And here they were, in Rachel's house, about to sleep. Santana had never felt the distance so much as she did now, when she was only a few yards away from Rachel – but there's a distance of miles, and there's a distance of memories, and Rachel still doesn't remember her, and Santana feels sadness.

That is when Santana finds herself standing in front of Rachel's room, hoping she could talk to Rachel again. The door had been ajar, boxes scattered all around the room, notebooks and CDs and pictures and paper and pens strewn all over the place, and there, on the bed, is Rachel, sitting, reading something from a notebook. Rachel looks up when she realizes Santana is standing by the door.

"Hey," she manages to say.

"Hey," Rachel says back.

"I...saw the light, and was just..."

Rachel shrugs. "It's okay."

"What's all this stuff?"

"My stuff," Rachel explains. "From the house. Blue sent them over. I was just...going through them."

Santana nods. She takes a step forward, notices the framed photographs sitting by the dresser, runs a finger through one of them.

"That was a good day then, wasn't it?" Rachel asks, breaking through Santana's thoughts. When Santana doesn't say anything, Rachel continues, "I remember you were still at work, and Suzie was getting restless and so we decided we'd go to the beach and I'd texted you to come pick us up there, and we kind of just spent the whole afternoon just picking stuff off the beach. Or more like, Suzie did."

Santana nods. She remembers that day. A lump has formed in her throat, and tears are forming in her eyes, and she feels like she cannot speak so she waits for Rachel to say more as Rachel joins her, looking at the photos herself.

Rachel reaches out to touch another photo, that of their wedding day in Lima. "This was a good one, too."

Santana nods, unable to see anything for the tears in her eyes, the picture blurry as she tries valiantly not to wipe the tears.

"I mean, your aunt kept messing up the lines, and kept saying stuff like the Father, the Son and the Holy Goat or the Holy Spigot and awfully wedded wife, and Sam and Carlos wouldn't stop giggling the whole entire time during the ceremony," Rachel continues, "But you remembered Bach and you had a Jewish minister, and you got Quinn and the others to do a flash mob for us and there were fireworks and how could a girl not fall in love with you all over again after that?"

"I..." Santana starts to say, before she stops and stares at Rachel. She studies Rachel then, who seems oblivious to Santana looking at her, her eyes going over the pictures on the dresser. Santana can feel her heart beat fast. Is it possible? She wonders. No, it couldn't be. "Rachel...how do you...?"

Rachel continues as if Santana hadn't spoken at all as she says, "It was kind of impressive, actually, how everyone could keep a surprise wedding a secret that whole time. Even Kurt and Suzie kept that secret that whole time, and you and Kurt even managed to work together, even though you've never actually been the best of friends..." She looks at Santana then. "You've always tried to do what was best for me, for us, and all you ever wanted to do was make me happy and I know I hurt you, too...what with..." and here she makes a face, "Mark Norton and all and..."

Santana shakes her head. "I...haven't been the best of partners, either Rachel..."

Rachel looks at her. "Yes, you were, Santana. You really were..."

They lapse into silence before Santana says, "How...do you know about...the surprise wedding and Tia Evita and all that other stuff?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Of course I know, I was there, remember?"

"But how...you don't remember...the doctor said...how...?" Santana stammers, stops, knits her eyebrows, before she says, ever so carefully, "Are you telling me you remember everything now? 'Cause if you do..."

Rachel smiles. "I don't...remember all exactly, Santana. It feels a bit like a library where all the books been checked out, but now all the books have been returned but they're all strewn all over the floor and I'm just now trying to put them back in the right shelves...but yes, I do remember stuff...the stuff that really matters..."

Santana looks at her suspiciously. "Are you fucking with me right now, Rachel? Because this isn't fucking funny, Rach. And if you are, I swear to God I'll never forgive you."

Rachel sighs. "Santana, just...there's a lot of stuff I still don't remember, but I remember enough, okay? I remember the time we first slept together, that time you came up to New York because you were thinking of dropping out of Louisville and breaking up with Brittany because of some...energy exchange crap or whatever...you remember that do you?" When Santana nods, blushing at the memory, waving a hand as if to let Rachel get on with it, Rachel continues, "I remember you kind of brushing it off as a one-night stand type of thing after and refusing to talk to me about it, I remember seeing you again years later, at that grocery store and thinking how beautiful you were, I remember our first date, and how you said you don't sleep with someone on the first date, which was kind of funny because you already did...and I remember those years when we tried the whole long distance thing before I went to London...I remember us moving in together, in New York, and I remember how it took you so long to even tell me you loved me, much less ask me to marry you. I remember you asking me to marry you in Quinn's basement and us getting married at the mayor's office at City Hall...I remember the discussions we had over whether we should have another child or not...you thought Suzie was enough but I really wanted another one...I remember when we were trying to get pregnant and it was so hard and I thought being pregnant was going to be easy but realizing in the middle of it all that it wasn't – that my emotions and hormones were all over the place and I remember the cravings and how you used to wake up in the middle of the night, driving through the streets of New York looking for the pristinely glazed donut that I wanted...I remember how my water broke and it was just before Christmas and there was a blizzard and we couldn't get any ride and we were snowed in, but Karofsky got this tractor type thing and we plowed through the streets and everyone just _had_ to come along and it took forever and the pain was so, so, so freaking bad...and I remember telling you there was no way, absolutely no freaking way I was ever going to get pregnant for you ever again, but you were such a trooper and through it all, I remember you just...being there all the time...You were always there..." She stops here now, takes a deep breath, smiles at Santana, and then asks, "Do you...do you want me to continue...?"

Santana swallows and manages a small smirk. "Actually, I'd like you to stop. I mean, you're rambling, again, which I'd always found really annoying, but kind of missed a bit after the accident, but..."

Rachel interrupts her then. "I've missed you, Santana."

Santana's face softens. "I've missed you, too."

"And I know we're supposed to be divorced now or whatever, and we all should move on, and I know I'm being selfish and this has nothing to do with me or whatever and I know I've given you a hard time and stuff, and you probably don't even want me back now, and this is kind of stupid but..."

"Rachel..."

"We have a family together, we have a daughter together," Rachel continues, ignoring Santana, "And frankly, it's kind of stupid to be middle-aged and divorced...I think we're just too old to be divorced now and..."

"Rachel!" Santana says then, shutting Rachel up.

"What?"

"You're rambling again."

"Sorry."

Santana smiles. "And you're wrong."

"About what?"

Santana says, "I'll always want you. Always."

Rachel smiles back. There is a silence again, before she says, "Could you...do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Could you just...be holding me right now?" Rachel asks. "I realize this is too much to ask of you right now. We can probably talk about all the other stuff in couple's therapy, but...can you just holding be right now?"

Santana doesn't even let her finish. She takes a step forward and engulfs Rachel in a tight embrace.

The rest of the night is a blur in itself as well, Santana thinks, but for her and Rachel talking late into the night and into the early morning, about anything and everything. Mostly Rachel would ask questions about their life together, and Santana would confirm it or add a significant detail, or Rachel would ask about Santana's life and on and on they talked until the morning light creeped into the room and they both fell asleep in each other's arms.

And now, Rachel is still holding on to her, as if for dear life and she finds the intimacy so familiar she moves closer, just to feel Rachel's warmth beside her even more.

Her movement causes Rachel to wake up and she stirs beside her, groaning. "Ugh, what time is it?"

Santana glances at the clock before she says, "Early...or late...or...whatever..."

"Can I just...sleep some more?" Rachel murmurs as she moves closer towards Santana.

Santana nods. "Yeah, sure. I'm kind of still jetlagged myself."

Rachel nods as she snuggles closer. Santana pulls Rachel closer to herself, breathes in the scent of spring rain and ocean. They lie there, motionless, for a while, before Rachel makes an irritated noise.

"What?" Santana asks.

Rachel moves. "I can't sleep."

"Okay."

"I mean, I'm really tired and sleepy, but I can't sleep."

"Do you want to get up?"

Rachel shakes her head.

"What do you want to do then?"

Rachel looks up at her then and grins. "Sing me something."

"What?"

"Sing me something."

"What song?"

Rachel shrugs. "Any song. I don't care. It doesn't matter."

"Okay."

There is a silence that follows this and so Rachel looks up again and says, "Well?"

Santana grins. "Wait, I'm thinking."

Rachel smiles. "What? Losing your touch, Lopez?"

Santana just grins, before she leans over and carefully places a kiss on Rachel's forehead. She then starts to sing:

"_Who knows how long I've loved you  
>You know I love you still<br>Will I wait a lonely lifetime  
>If you want me to, I will."<em>

Rachel nods. "The Beatles, 'I Will'. I like that."

Santana nods back in response and sings,

_"For if I ever saw you  
>I didn't catch your name<br>But it never really mattered  
>I will always feel the same."<em>

Rachel joins in the chorus, harmonizing perfectly with Santana it brings out an eyeroll from Santana.

"_Love you forever and forever  
>Love you with all my heart<br>Love you whenever we're together  
>Love you when we're apart."<em>

When Santana finishes the song, Rachel smiles and says, "That's a pretty song. Thank you."

"Yeah. I feel a bit like an old lady singing it to you," Santana says.

"You _are_ an old lady."

Santana glares at her. "Very funny."

"Whatever, I'm going to sing to you now," Rachel says.

"Oh my god, I'm never going to catch up on my sleep now, am I?"

Rachel smiles. "_Is it getting any better?_"

"Seriously, Rach..."

"_Or do you feel the same? _

_Will it make it easier on you now?_

_You've got someone to blame? You say..."_

"Rachel..."

"_One love...One life...When it's one need...in the night_," Rachel continues to sing. "_One love...we get to share it...leaves you baby if you don't care for it..._"

Then Rachel stops. "What's the next line? I forgot the next lines...What are they again?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "_Did I disappoint you...Or leave a bad taste in your mouth...You act like you never had love...You want me to go without..._"

Rachel's eyes light up. "_Well it's too late tonight...To drag the past out into the light...We're one but we're not the same...We've got to carry each other...carry each other.._."

Santana sings, "_Love is a temple, love is a higher law...Love is a temple, love is a higher law..._"

Rachel says, "_You ask for me to enter...But then you make me cry...I can't be holdin' on...to what you got...When all you've got is..._"

Santana joins in as Rachel sings, "_One love, one life..._"

When Rachel finishes the song in a whisper, her voice trailing away into silence, Santana smiles at her then.

"We're going to be fine," Rachel says, smiling gently at Santana.

Santana nods. As she looks at Rachel then, she realizes that Rachel is right. "Yeah, I think we will be."

And even as she says it, Santana knows it to be true.

- END -

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: That's it for this chapter and this story. Special thanks to pictureofsuccess for the assistance with this one. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me and this story. Fancy seeing Pezberry from this verse in a new story? Let me know in the reviews. Cheers!**_


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